“I want to give a toast,” I said.
Julian stiffened in his seat.
I looked right at him and smiled. “My dear husband, Julian…”
Part 2: The Toast
The dining room went dead silent. Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward me. Julian sat rigid at the head of the table, fork frozen mid-air over his pumpkin pie. His mother, Evelyn, smiled warmly beside him. My parents leaned in, expecting something sweet.
“Julian,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “you’ve spent the last six months telling everyone how hard you’re working for this family. You tell your mother how exhausted you are. You tell my parents how devoted you are to being a provider.”
He forced an awkward laugh. “Honey, you don’t need to do this in front of everyone—”
“Oh, but I insist,” I said softly, lifting a small Bluetooth speaker I’d set beside my glass. “Because actions speak louder than words. But sometimes, recordings speak loudest of all.”
I pressed play.
“She’s driving me insane. Texting pictures of the baby, asking when I’ll be home… I just want her to leave me alone.”
