Chapter 4 - The Wrong Slideshow
The projection screen lit up.
Our wedding photograph appeared first.
Guests applauded.
Ryan stood rigid beside me.
The next image showed us on our honeymoon in Maui.
Then Christmas.
Then the day we bought our house.
Then a photograph from our first pregnancy.
My throat tightened.
I had lost that baby at eleven weeks.
Another photograph followed from our second pregnancy.
That loss had happened at fourteen weeks.
Ryan had selected both images.
Why?
Then text appeared across the screen.
THROUGH EVERY STORM, WE CHOSE EACH OTHER.
Guests sighed softly.
Margaret wiped her eyes.
Ryan glanced toward the technician.
“Skip ahead.”
The technician looked confused.
“Sir?”
“Just move to the baby pictures.”
I raised my hand.
“No.”
The next slide appeared.
A photograph of me asleep in a hospital bed after my second miscarriage.
I had never seen it.
My face was pale.
An IV ran into my arm.
Ryan sat beside me holding my hand.
The caption read:
SHE NEVER STOPPED FIGHTING.
Something about it felt wrong.
Not loving.
Documentary.
Like evidence.
Then the next slide appeared.
A scanned medical form.
The crowd went quiet.
PATIENT HISTORY - RECURRENT PREGNANCY LOSS.
I turned toward Ryan.
“What is this?”
He looked horrified.
“That wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Julia stood immediately.
The technician began clicking frantically.
Another document appeared.
TEMPORARY HEALTHCARE AUTHORIZATION.
Another.
SPOUSAL FINANCIAL PROXY.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Then another slide.
A hotel reservation.
LANGHAM CHICAGO - EXECUTIVE SUITE 402.
Gasps moved through the garden.
Ryan lunged toward the laptop.
Julia stepped between him and the equipment.
“Don’t touch it.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
The final image filled the screen.
A photograph captured by the hotel’s lobby camera.
Ryan entering beside Vanessa.
Timestamp.
8:12 p.m.
Below it, in large letters, appeared one sentence.
GUESTS: MR. AND MRS. RYAN WHITMORE.
The garden went completely silent.
Ryan stared at the screen.
Then at me.
“You did this.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
And that was true.
I had sent photographs to Julia that morning.
But I had not created this slideshow.
The technician looked terrified.
“Mrs. Whitmore, I swear, these files were already in the folder Mr. Whitmore gave us.”
Everyone turned toward Ryan.
His face collapsed.
That was when Julia leaned toward me.
“He planned to show the medical records.”
I whispered, “Why?”
“To establish a history.”
My stomach tightened.
“A history of what?”
Before Julia could answer, Margaret crossed the garden.
She slapped Ryan.
Once.
Hard enough to turn his head.
“You brought her here?”
She pointed at Vanessa.
Ryan touched his cheek.
“Mom, stop.”
“You brought that woman into this family again?”
Again.
The word landed differently.
Vanessa stared at Margaret.
“What do you mean, again?”
Margaret’s face changed.
She had said too much.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“You told me you hadn’t spoken to Ryan in years before I came back.”
Ryan whispered, “Vanessa, don’t.”
I looked between them.
“Before you came back?”
Vanessa’s eyes filled with tears.
“I didn’t find Ryan six months ago.”
May you like
She looked at me.
“Margaret did.”
