He tried to speak, but no words came out. He just stared in horror at the man standing there, because he wasn’t just Brenda’s husband… he was also our accountant.

Todd steps forward, crisp and cool in his navy suit, expression unreadable. He raises the folder in his hand—thick with documents that scream betrayal in every printout and signature. He doesn’t need to say a word. The evidence speaks louder than anything else in that room.

Brandon scrambles to stand up, knocking over his chair. He opens his mouth, stammers, “This isn’t—this is a misunderstanding—”

“Is it?” I ask, turning toward him slowly. My voice is steady, but inside I’m vibrating like a wire stretched too tight. “Because according to Todd, you’ve been filing some very interesting ‘business expenses’ for the last eight months. And according to these,” I pluck a photo from the top of Todd’s stack—an image of Brandon and Brenda on a beach in Miami, clearly not on a work trip—“you weren’t exactly discreet.”

The room is silent, except for the quiet click of someone’s fork hitting their plate. My brother, Josh, is gripping the table so tightly his knuckles are white. My mom looks stunned, lips parted, blinking as though she’s trying to reboot her brain. Brenda, now pale as a ghost, edges backward like she might flee—but Todd blocks her path.

He finally speaks. “Funny thing about being married to someone for ten years,” Todd says, his voice calm, too calm, “you start to recognize when they’re lying. And when you’re also their accountant, well… let’s just say I’ve had front-row seats to this entire disaster.”

Brenda whispers something under her breath. Todd doesn’t even flinch.

“I trusted both of you,” he continues. “And while you were sneaking around in hotel rooms and charging margaritas to your ‘consulting budget,’ I was sitting at home wondering why our joint account was bleeding money.”

Brandon looks like he’s about to be sick.

I tilt my head at him. “Still think I’m overreacting, babe?”

Brandon finally finds his voice. “Listen. Please. I—I can explain. Brenda had a rough time after her divorce and—”

“Her what?” I ask sharply.

He freezes.

“You said she was divorced. But I guess that’s just another lie you told me to keep me from asking questions. Was she even separated, Brandon? Or were you just hoping Todd wouldn’t notice you were screwing his wife while he was doing our taxes?”

Todd snorts. “Oh, I noticed. I just needed time to build the case.”

Brenda looks like she might cry. She reaches toward Todd, but he steps back.

“Don’t,” he says simply. “I’m not here to fix things. I’m here to burn what’s left.”

The doors haven’t closed yet, and people at other tables have started to whisper. A few phones are recording, I’m sure. Brandon finally sees this isn’t something he can spin. He reaches toward me now, eyes desperate.

“Listen, please, I made a mistake. Okay? But I love you. I was going to end it—”

“Were you?” I cut him off. “Because according to your texts, you were booking a trip with her to Cabo next month. Not exactly the move of a man trying to end things.”

He glances at Brenda, who now refuses to meet his eyes. His face twists into something dark. “You set me up,” he says, voice low.

“I gave you enough rope,” I reply. “You tied the noose yourself.”

Todd clears his throat and places the file on the table, then slides it toward me.

“Thought you might need these,” he says. “Evidence. Just in case you want to talk to a lawyer.”

I nod. “Thank you. I do.”

Brandon looks stricken. “You’re really going to throw this all away? For one mistake?”

“One?” I laugh, sharp and bitter. “You brought your mistress to my brother’s rehearsal dinner and told me she was ‘practically family.’ Do you hear yourself?”

He takes a step toward me, but Josh rises from his seat.

“Don’t,” my brother says flatly. “You don’t get to touch her. Not after this.”

Brandon looks at him, then at me. Something breaks in his expression. He turns toward Brenda, who is now picking up her purse from the floor like she wants to disappear.

“You said you’d leave him,” Brandon hisses.

“And you said you’d delete your messages,” she shoots back, eyes flashing.

Todd chuckles, the sound full of venom. “God, you two deserve each other.”

I sit down, suddenly exhausted. I feel the weight of the last six months settle on my shoulders. The late nights, the suspicions, the quiet crying in the bathroom while Brandon pretended to be working late. All of it, laid bare now under the sterile lights of a steakhouse with half the wedding party as witnesses.

“I think it’s time for you both to leave,” I say.

Brenda glances toward the door. Todd doesn’t stop her this time. She slips past him without another word, heels clicking against the tile like gunshots. Brandon hesitates, but when I don’t look up again, he finally follows.

As the doors close behind them, a hush settles over the room. Then someone claps. It’s my cousin, Erica. A slow, sarcastic clap.

“Well,” she says, raising her wine glass, “this might be the most honest rehearsal dinner I’ve ever been to.”

A few people laugh, uneasy and awkward, but I can’t even smile. I stare at the file on the table. Todd sits down across from me and slides his glass of water toward me.

“You okay?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not yet. But I will be.”

He nods. “You handled that like a pro.”

“I wanted to scream,” I admit. “But that would’ve been for me. I wanted them to squirm.”

“They did,” he says with a grin.

Josh leans over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You want to skip the rest of this and go get ice cream like we did when we were kids?”

I finally laugh. “God, yes.”

Todd stands up, brushing invisible lint off his pants. “Mind if I come along? I feel like I’ve earned at least a scoop.”

“You’ve earned a whole damn sundae,” I say.

We leave the restaurant together, not looking back. The night air is crisp and forgiving, wrapping around us like something clean and new. I take a deep breath. For the first time in months, I can actually taste it.

“Do you think they’ll try to talk their way out of it?” I ask as we reach the parking lot.

“Brenda will,” Todd says. “Brandon’s too dumb. He’ll cry to his mom and post vague status updates about betrayal.”

“Gross.”

“Very.”

We drive in separate cars to the late-night ice cream place downtown, the one with neon lights and ridiculous sundae names. Josh orders something called the “Mint Madness” and dares me to finish the “Caramel Commotion.” I do. Todd gets a double chocolate scoop and offers to share. I let him. We laugh. We talk. We don’t mention Brenda or Brandon again.

It’s not until I’m home, showered and in bed, that it all hits me. The pain. The betrayal. The absurdity of the night. But it also comes with relief. Clarity.

I open my phone and scroll through my messages. There’s one from Brandon—long, rambling, begging. I delete it.

Another from Brenda—two words: “You win.”

I delete that one too.

Because this wasn’t a game.
It was my life.
And starting now, it’s finally mine again.