Boston Mother Cancels Twenty Two Million Dollar Wedding Gift After Morning Betrayal
The silence of the Beacon Hill townhouse was different now, no longer heavy with the dread of a sudden knock or an apologetic text.
I walked into my dressing room closet at ten minutes before ten.
The silver wig sat on its white Styrofoam stand, its synthetic fibers perfectly styled and gleaming under the halogen lights.
It had served its purpose on the Saturday of the wedding, but it looked like a museum exhibit now, a relic of a day when I still cared what Victoria’s mother whispered behind her gloved hand.
I lifted the hair from the mold and folded it gently, placing it inside the black zippered travel case.
I carried the case downstairs to the kitchen, where the morning sun was cutting across the oak table in long, pale rectangles.
Avery was already sitting at the island, a cup of black coffee steaming beside his open briefcase.
“You are not wearing the hat,” he said, setting his mug down.
“I am finished with hats, Avery,” I said.
I placed the black case into a velvet box on the counter, tucking the edges of the silk lining around it.
