Chapter 2 - The Empty Chair in the Front Row
Isaiah lowered the microphone.
The guests were watching him, waiting for another accusation, another explosion, perhaps a public explanation of the documents.
Instead, he looked toward Nia.
Her shoulders were shaking.
She was still touching the uneven hair at the back of her head, as though she could somehow restore what Evelyn had taken.
Isaiah set the microphone back in its stand.
"Everyone, please give us a moment."
He turned to Celeste.
"Can we use the bridal suite?"
"Of course."
Nia did not move immediately.
Her eyes had found the severed braid on the floor.
"My mother made those flowers."
Isaiah looked down.
He remembered Patrice working on them during a visit several weeks earlier, laughing because Isaiah could not understand why so many tiny petals were necessary.
"One for every person who's loved her into becoming this woman," Patrice had told him.
Now the flowers lay beneath the chairs of people who had watched Evelyn destroy them.
Isaiah bent down and carefully collected the braid.
He wrapped it in a clean linen napkin from a nearby table.
"I've got it," he said softly.
Nia did not thank him.
She simply turned toward the bridal suite.
Her bridesmaid Renee joined them, carrying the train of Nia's gown.
Inside, Nia sat before a mirror.
The hairstyle looked worse under the bright vanity lights.
A short, uneven section remained where the long braid had been attached and woven into her natural hair.
Renee approached with trembling hands.
"I can call the stylist back."
"Not yet."
Nia stared at herself.
Then she asked the question that had been bothering her even before Evelyn attacked her.
"Where's my mother?"
Isaiah glanced at Celeste.
"What do you mean?"
"Your mother said she had car trouble. That she was running late."
Nia swallowed.
"She said Patrice might not make the ceremony. But my mother wouldn't miss my wedding without calling me."
Celeste set the folder on the vanity.
"Mrs. Carter wasn't late."
Nia turned.
"What?"
"Your mother arrived before the ceremony."
The words seemed to hang in the air.
"She's here?"
"She was stopped at the west entrance."
"Stopped by who?"
"Our security staff."
Isaiah stepped closer.
"Why would security stop the bride's mother?"
Celeste opened the folder and removed a printed page.
"This instruction was sent to our operations team late last night. It listed three members of the Carter family who were not to be admitted."
Nia read the names.
Patrice Carter.
Her mother's younger sister, Denise.
And Nia's elderly uncle Leonard.
All three had been invited.
All three had been given seats near the front of the ceremony.
Nia's hands began to shake again.
"Who authorized this?"
Celeste pointed to the signature field.
Isaiah Whitmore.
Isaiah's face darkened.
"I never signed that."
"I know," Celeste replied. "That's why I came."
Nia looked at him.
A painful memory surfaced.
For weeks, Evelyn had complained that the wedding was becoming too crowded.
She had suggested moving Nia's family farther from the front.
She had insisted that prominent guests from the Whitmore family's professional circle deserved priority seating.
Every disagreement had ended the same way.
Evelyn accused Nia of being ungrateful.
Isaiah tried to calm them both.
And Nia surrendered something else.
A chair.
A table.
A photograph.
A decision.
"Your mother told me my family was making everything difficult," Nia said.
Isaiah stood motionless.
"She told me your mother was angry about the wedding arrangements," he admitted.
Nia looked at him sharply.
"And you believed her?"
"I thought there was a misunderstanding."
"There was always a misunderstanding, Isaiah."
She turned back toward the mirror.
"Every time she insulted me, you said she didn't mean it. Every time she pushed my family away, you asked me to be patient."
Isaiah had no immediate answer.
Renee returned Nia's phone from the dressing table.
There were seventeen missed calls and several unread messages.
All from Patrice.
The earliest message had arrived almost two hours earlier.
Baby, we're at the west gate. They won't let us in.
Another followed.
They're saying you and Isaiah requested it. I know that can't be right.
The last message was only three words.
I love you.
Nia pressed the phone against her chest.
For the first time since the scissors had closed, she began to cry without trying to stop herself.
Isaiah sat beside her.
He reached for her hand, but Nia drew it away.
"Your mother didn't just cut my hair," she whispered.
"She made me stand up there thinking my own mother had abandoned me."
May you like
Celeste quietly turned another page.
"And there's something else you both need to see."
