She despised Claudia Simmons. If she found out her son had already gotten legally married to that woman at City Hall, she'd probably have a stroke.
I took a deep breath and transferred the $88,000 bride price back to her account—every last cent.
I counted to three in my head.
The phone rang.
"Tilda, why did you send the bride price back?"
"Mom, Harrison and I aren't getting married for now. I'm going abroad for three years."
Even though I was telling the truth, Fiona Delgado's sharp instincts picked up on the lie underneath immediately.
"Did that boy do something to wrong you? I'm going over there right now! The wedding tomorrow will go on as planned!"
"Mrs. Delgado, the wedding really can't happen—"
But she'd already hung up.
It was Harrison's turn to figure out how to handle his own mother.
And it was time for me to pack my bags and leave.
The apartment was still dressed for a celebration. Every detail—the red accents, the fresh flowers, the carefully chosen linens—was something I'd picked out, each one a small prayer for the happy life I thought was coming.
Now they were all knives, buried in my chest.
There wasn't much to take. A single suitcase, and it wasn't even full.