At 65, I never expected to see my name crossed out on my son’s wedding invitation. Then came the call that changed everything….

They did? Rebecca’s bitter laugh held no humor. That’s her pattern. That’s why I had to call you.

You’re not the first, Mrs. Sullivan. Vanessa has done this before. My hand tightened on the receiver.

Done what, exactly? Vanessa Bradford has been engaged three times in the past seven years, Rebecca said flatly. Each time she targeted men from successful professional backgrounds but with limited family wealth. Men whose parents owned property or had retirement savings.

Each time she orchestrated a scenario where the parents were pressured to liquidate assets to fund an extravagant wedding. I sank deeper into the chair, my mind racing. Are you saying she’s some kind of… con artist? I’m saying she’s calculated, Rebecca clarified.

The first time I thought it was coincidence. Her fiancé Michael’s parents sold their vacation, cabin to pay for a wedding at the St. Regis. The engagement ended mysteriously two weeks before the ceremony.

After the non-refundable deposits were paid, and the parents had already sold their property. And the second time, I barely managed to ask. Daniel’s mother took out a reverse mortgage on her home to fund their plaza hotel wedding.

Same story. Engagement broken off just before the ceremony, but not before Vanessa had access to several accounts they’d opened together. Rebecca paused before continuing.

In both cases, she walked away with substantial cash and gifts, while the families were left devastated financially and emotionally. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. If this is true, why hasn’t anyone reported her? Pressed charges? Pride.

Embarrassment. And legally it’s complicated. She never technically stole anything.

The men gave her access willingly. The parents willingly sold their properties or took out loans. And Vanessa always creates situations where she appears to be the wronged party when she ends the engagements.

My mind flashed to Thomas’ defense of Vanessa whenever I’d expressed, even mild reservations, how he’d become increasingly isolated from his old friends since their relationship began. How Vanessa had subtly directed their social life toward her circle exclusively. How do you know all this? I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice despite the ring of truth in her words.

Because I helped her once, Rebecca admitted. Shame evident in her tone. With Daniel, the second fiancé, I corroborated a story she created about him having an inappropriate relationship with a colleague.

It wasn’t true, but I backed her up because she convinced me he had wronged her. Later, I found evidence that she’d planned it all along, including text messages about targeting his mother’s house specifically. Why are you telling me this now? Today, of all days? Because last night she called me, drunk, laughing about how she’d managed to drive a wedge between you and Thomas, how she’d convinced him you were selfish and unsupportive.

Rebecca’s voice cracked. She said, and I’m quoting, another sentimental, old bat who’ll probably die alone in a nursing home while I enjoy her liquidated equity. The cruelty of the words stole my breath.

I closed my eyes, pieces falling into place. Vanessa’s immediate focus on my house, her practice sympathy when discussing my situation, her subtle encouragement of Thomas’s worst tendencies toward status-seeking and material acquisition. I know I should have come forward sooner, Rebecca continued.

But she has a way of making people afraid. She’s vindictive when crossed. After I confronted her about Daniel, she spread rumors that got me fired from my job.

I had to move cities, to start over. Why risk calling me now then? Because I can’t live with myself if I let it happen again. Last night’s call was my breaking point.

The way she talked about you, about Thomas. She hesitated. There’s more, Mrs. Sullivan.

Something about financial trouble Thomas doesn’t know about. Beatrice had gotten out of her car now, concern evident on her face as she approached the front door. I waved her inside, my mind reeling.

What financial trouble? I asked. Vanessa lost her job three months ago. She’s been pretending to go to work, but she was fired for falsifying client billings.

She’s deeply in debt, credit cards, shopping addiction, gambling. She needs Thomas’s income and other sources of cash. Your house equity would solve a lot of her problems.

The doorbell rang, Beatrice using her key to let herself in. She found me pale faced in the entryway, the phone clutched in my white knuckled hand. Ellie, what’s wrong? She whispered, taking in my shocked expression.

Mrs. Sullivan, are you still there? Rebecca asked through the phone. Yes, I managed. Do you have proof of any of this? Thomas won’t believe me without evidence.

He’s very much in love with her. Even as I said the words, I wondered if what Thomas felt was actually love or if he too had been manipulated into a simulacrum of it. I have screenshots of text conversations, copies of the previous wedding contracts, photos of the properties her other fiance’s parents sold, and a recording of last night’s call.

She paused. I started recording our conversations after what happened with Daniel for my own protection. I glanced at the clock, 945 AM.

The ceremony was scheduled for 11. Can you send these to me immediately, by email? Already done. I sent everything to the address listed in the alumni directory, from your nursing school.

I hope it’s current. I confirmed the address, then asked the question weighing heaviest on my heart. Why target Thomas? Why my son specifically? Rebecca’s sigh carried years of regret.

Vanessa researches potential marks carefully. She looks for men who are professionally successful but not independently wealthy. Men who are close to their parents, especially if those parents own property free and clear.

Men who might be a bit insecure socially, eager to impress, and… I’m sorry. To say this, men who might be somewhat estranged from one parent, creating vulnerability she can exploit. The description fit Thomas with painful accuracy.

After James died, Thomas had thrown himself into work, using professional success to process his grief. His social circle had narrowed as he focused on his career. And while we had remained close, there had always been a distance.

His guilt over being absent during much of his father’s illness, his discomfort with my simpler lifestyle as his own tastes grew more expensive. Thomas lost his father 12 years ago, I said softly. It was… difficult for him.

I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Sullivan. For everything. Rebecca sounded genuinely remorseful.

I should have spoken up sooner. You’re speaking now, I replied. Surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice.

That’s what matters. After arranging to stay in contact, I hung up and turned to face a bewildered Beatrice. In quick, concise sentences, I explained what I’d learned…