2. Katie
— ? —
Katie
One week since I walked out of my own wedding reception.
I haven’t left this apartment. Haven’t showered in three days or eaten anything except stale crackers and the bottle of wine I found shoved in the back of my pantry.
The curtains are drawn and the lights are off. My phone has been dead since day two, and I haven’t bothered to charge it.
What’s the point?
Everyone already decided I’m crazy. Everyone already picked their side. And spoiler alert: it wasn’t mine.
I talked to a divorce lawyer while my anger was still fresh and she assured me they’ll be sending Kyle the papers.
I’m curled up on my couch in the same sweatpants I’ve been wearing since Tuesday, staring at the ceiling, when I realize I should probably check if I still have a job.
Right. The marketing position at Kyle’s father’s small company that I worked so hard to get. The one that made me feel like maybe I’d earned something on my own merit, even though I know deep down they only hired me because I was dating the boss’s son.
I drag myself off the couch and plug in my phone and the screen lights up.
Dozens of missed calls. Hundreds of text messages.
My stomach drops.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t look because nothing good ever comes from looking.
But my thumb moves anyway, scrolling through the messages like I’m watching a car crash in slow motion.
Katie, your mom says you had a breakdown. Call me when you’re feeling better. xo Aunt Linda
Delete.
Heard about the wedding. I always knew you were jealous of Erin. Sad that you’d stoop this low.
Delete.
Kyle told us what really happened. Why would you make up something so disgusting about your own sister? Get help.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Every message is the same. Concern wrapped in accusation. People I’ve known my entire life, people who watched me grow up, all of them swallowing Kyle’s lies like communion wine.
Then I see the notification.
Kyle Everette posted on Facebook.
My blood turns to ice. I tap it.
There’s a photo of Kyle looking somber and handsome, staring out a window like some tragic hero in a period drama. The caption underneath makes me want to vomit.
To everyone asking: yes, Katie and I are divorcing.
I tried to help her for years, but her mental health issues have become too severe.
She accused me of sleeping with her sister at our wedding.
I’m heartbroken, but I have to protect myself.
Please keep her in your prayers. She needs professional help.
3,534 likes. 334 comments.
I scroll through them with numb fingers.
So brave of you to share, Kyle! Praying for you both.
Katie always seemed off to me. There was something in her eyes.
Erin must be devastated. Imagine your own sister accusing you of something so vile. Sending love to your whole family.
You’re such a good man for trying to help her. Some people just can’t be saved.
I throw my phone across the room.
It hits the wall with a satisfying crack, but it doesn’t make me feel better. Nothing will ever make me feel better because the man I loved, the man I MARRIED, is out there painting me as some deranged lunatic while my sister plays the wounded victim.
And everyone’s buying it.
***
A knock at the door but I don’t move.
Another knock, louder this time.
“Go away!” My voice comes out like sandpaper. “I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling, and I’m definitely not interested in talking to anyone from my family, so just LEAVE!”
Silence.
Great.
Then, “Katie? It’s Henry Wilson. Kyle’s uncle.”
I freeze.
Henry is the quiet one. The one who always looked bored at family events, nursing a whiskey in the corner while everyone else made small talk. I’ve seen him at maybe fifteen Everette gatherings over the past three years, and I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than a hundred words total.
Why is he HERE?
“I know you don’t want to see anyone from that family,” his voice continues through the door. “And honestly, I don’t blame you. But please. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Did Kyle send you?”
“God, no. Kyle doesn’t know I’m here. He’d probably disown me if he did.”
Something in his voice makes me pause. He sounds... tired. Unlike someone running a con.
But I’ve been fooled before, haven’t I?
“How do I know this isn’t some trick? Some elaborate scheme to get me to admit I made everything up?”
“You don’t.” A pause. “But I drove forty minutes to get here, and I’m standing in your hallway holding a fruit basket like a complete moron, so the least you could do is let me embarrass myself in person.”
A fruit basket?
Against my better judgment, I drag myself off the couch and shuffle to the door. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror and wince. Greasy hair, puffy eyes, my sweatpants with a mysterious stain on the knee.
Oh well. If he’s here to mock me, at least I’ll look the part of the crazy ex-wife.
I open the door.
Henry Wilson stands in my doorway, looking ridiculously out of place in a designer suit. He’s holding an elaborate fruit basket wrapped in cellophane with a giant bow on top, and the expression on his face is somewhere between apologetic and deeply uncomfortable.
He’s tall with broad shoulders. Dark hair with a hint of gray at the temples even though he can’t be older than thirty-three or thirty-four. And his eyes...
His eyes are kind.
That’s what throws me off. In a family full of sharks, Henry’s eyes actually look human.
“This is a stupid gift.” He holds up the basket like it’s evidence of his own idiocy. “I didn’t know what to bring. Flowers seemed weird. Wine seemed insensitive. I saw this at the grocery store and panicked.”
“You... panicked?”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what? Ambushed a grieving woman at her apartment?”
“Apologized for being a coward.”
That shuts me up.
Henry shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t look away. “Can I come in? Just for a minute. I promise I’m not here to gaslight you or convince you that you’re crazy. I actually have the opposite message.”
I should slam the door in his face and go back to my couch and my crackers and my slow descent into madness. But something in his voice...
“Fine.” I step aside. “But if this is a trap, I’m warning you, I haven’t showered in three days and I have nothing left to lose. I will bite.”
“Noted.”
He walks in, sets the fruit basket on my kitchen counter, and looks around at the mess I’ve been living in. Takeout containers and blankets strewn across every surface.
If he’s judging me, he doesn’t show it.
“Kyle told me three months ago.”
Hearing that feels like a literal blow to the chest.
“What?”
Henry turns to face me, and his jaw is tight, angry. But not at me.
“We were at his bachelor party. Everyone else had passed out, but Kyle and I were still up, drinking on the balcony. He was wasted. Bragging, actually. Said he’d been taking Erin on dates. Said she was ‘everything you’re not.’”
The room feels unstable. He has known the truth for three months. He kept the secret the entire time.
“I thought he was joking.” Henry’s voice is bitter. “Kyle says crazy things when he’s drunk. Exaggerates. Makes stuff up to sound interesting. I told myself it was just the alcohol talking.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.” He meets my eyes. “It wasn’t. And I should have warned you.
I should have said something. I should have pulled you aside before the wedding and told you what I heard.
But I didn’t, because I’m a coward, and because I didn’t want to cause drama, and because I convinced myself that maybe, just maybe, Kyle was telling the truth about it being a joke. ”
I can’t speak.
For the first time in seven days, someone is telling me the truth. Someone is looking at me like I’m not insane. Someone is confirming that the nightmare I’ve been living is real.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
Henry laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Did you see his Facebook post?”
“Yeah.”
“I read it this morning. All those comments, all those people talking about how ‘brave’ he is, how ‘sad’ it is that his wife turned out to be mentally unstable.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to throw up. I’ve watched Kyle lie his way through life, but this? This is a new low, even for him.”
“So what, you grew a conscience?”
“Something like that.” He pauses. “Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it. I stood there at that reception and watched them treat you like some kind of criminal, and I didn’t say a word. I’m complicit in this. I know that.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because you deserve to know that you’re not crazy.” His voice is firm now. “Everything you saw was real. Everything you said was true. And not everyone believes their lies. I don’t.”
My throat tightens.
I’ve spent seven days curled up in the dark, convincing myself that maybe I DID imagine it. Maybe the stress really did make me hallucinate. Maybe I AM as crazy as everyone says.
But here’s Henry Wilson, standing in my messy apartment with a ridiculous fruit basket, telling me I’m not.
“Why should I trust you?” The question comes out harsher than I intend. “You’re an Everette. Blood is blood.”
“Actually, I’m a Wilson. Kyle’s mother is my sister, but I’ve never really fit in with that family.
” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “They think I’m boring.
I skip their parties. I don’t play their games.
And after what I saw at your wedding, I don’t think I want to be associated with them anymore. ”
“That’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth.” He holds up his hands. “Look, I get it. You have no reason to believe me. I’m just some guy you’ve seen at a few dinners, and for all you know, this is another manipulation.”
“Is it?”
“No.” His eyes hold mine. “But I can’t prove that. All I can do is show up, tell you what I know, and hope that’s worth something.”
I don’t know what to say.
I’ve spent a week being told I’m crazy by everyone I love. My mother, father, my so-called friends. Every single person I trusted turned their backs on me, and now this stranger is standing in my living room offering me the one thing I desperately needed.
Validation.
“I should go.” Henry moves toward the door. “You probably want to be alone. I just... I needed you to know. That’s all.”
He’s almost at the door when I finally find my voice.
“Henry.”
He stops and turns.
“Thank you.”
It’s not enough. Two words can’t capture what it means to have someone believe me, even if that someone is a man I barely know. But it’s all I have.
He nods. “I think you’re handling this better than most people would. A lesser person would have burned down the reception hall.”
“The night is young.”
A real smile this time. “Call me if you need anything. Legal resources, character witnesses, whatever. I may not have much pull with the Everettes anymore, but I’ve got a few contacts who might be useful.”
“Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”
Henry pauses at the door, hand on the frame. “Because my nephew is a monster, and someone needs to stop letting him get away with it.”
Then he’s gone.
I stand in my doorway, clutching a stupid fruit basket, staring at the empty hallway.
The only person on my side is a man I barely know. A man who knew about the affair before I did. A man who watched me get humiliated at my own wedding and said nothing.
I really should hate him and be completely furious that he held onto the exact information that could have saved me, yet he chose to stay completely silent instead.
But right now? Right now, he’s the only person in the world who doesn’t think I’m insane.
And that’s worth more than he knows.
I close the door and look at the fruit basket. There’s a card tucked into the cellophane. I pull it out.
You’re not crazy. And you’re not alone. Call me.
His number is scrawled underneath.
Then I walk over to where my phone is lying cracked on the floor, and I save his number in my contacts.
Just in case. Because if I’m going to war with the Everettes, I’m going to need all the allies I can get.
Even the ones I’m not sure I can trust.