“There’s something else,” Martin said, his voice heavy. “Two weeks ago, Avery sent emails to every vendor requesting they remove you from their communications and direct everything to him and Taylor. He’s cutting you out of an event you’re paying for.” He paused. “Amelia, when was the last time Sophie called you?”
I tried to remember. “Easter,” I whispered. Four months ago.
“I think you need to prepare yourself,” Martin said gently, “for the possibility that they don’t want you at this wedding.”
Those words echoed in my head as Martin drafted a legal letter clearly stating that I was the financial sponsor and legal host of the event, that all communications must include me, and that no changes could be made without my written approval. “Send it,” I told him, and I meant it. I was done being an ATM that walked and talked.