I froze. The air seemed to leave my lungs. Everyone knew Bobby’s status—they knew I was his wife. Yet no one cared. For the first time, it hit me just how far apart Bobby and I really were. He thrived in this glittering world, while I was nothing more than a caterer in an apron. But it was me—me—who had stood by him through everything.
Paman Jack approached me, his comforting hand resting on my shoulder. "Do whatever you need to feel better, Irish. Don’t worry about me."
His words lit something in me. Gripping the cake knife like it was a weapon, I marched toward the altar. Every step silenced the crowd. The knife in my hand felt like a samurai’s blade, poised to cut through everything standing in my way.
When I reached the cake, I sliced it into rough pieces with deliberate intensity, not caring about ruining its pristine appearance. I picked up a large slice and smeared it across Bobby’s face.
"Congratulations on your engagement!" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, I turned to Grace and did the same, smearing another slice across her flawless makeup.