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

I don’t need to know anything except that you’ve chosen your house over. My happiness? He snapped. I can’t believe you’d show up here to cause a scene on my wedding day.

I’m not here to cause a scene, I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. I’m here because I love you too much to stay silent. Beatrice stepped forward.

Thomas, your mother received some very disturbing information this morning. Information about Vanessa that you need to hear. Thomas’s face flushed with anger.

So you brought reinforcements to ambush me? This is exactly why I didn’t want you here. You’ve never given Vanessa a fair chance. You’ve been against her from the beginning because she sees through your manipulative… Thomas.

James Sullivan, I interrupted, my mother’s tone cutting through his tirade. I have never lied to you, and I’m not starting now. Please, five minutes.

If you still want to go through with the wedding afterward, I’ll leave quietly. You’ll never have to see me again. Something in my words, perhaps the painful sincerity of that final promise, gave him pause.

He glanced at his watch, then at Andy, who gave a small nod. Five minutes, Thomas conceded icily. In here.

He gestured to a small sitting room across, the hall, separate from the groomsmen gathered in the suite. Once inside with the door closed, I wasted no time. Vanessa has been engaged three times before, I began opening the folder of evidence.

Each time she targeted men whose parents had significant assets, but limited cash flow. Each time she manipulated the situation to pressure the parents into liquidating property or taking out loans to finance extravagant weddings. And each time she broke off the engagement just before the ceremony, but not before securing access to joint accounts and assets.

Thomas stared at me as if I’d started speaking in tongues. That’s ridiculous. That’s, that’s completely insane.

I wish it were, I said softly, handing him the printouts Rebecca had sent. These are text messages between Vanessa and her former roommate, Rebecca. This one specifically mentions targeting your mother’s cute little house as far back as your third date.

His hands shook slightly as he scanned the messages. Disbelief warring with the evidence before him. These could be fake.

Anyone could create screenshots. Listen to this then, Beatrice said, producing my phone and playing the recording of Vanessa’s drunken call from the previous night. Vanessa’s distinctive voice filled the small room.

Another sentimental old bat who’ll probably die alone in a nursing home while I enjoy her liquidated equity. Thomas is even easier to manage than Daniel was so desperate for approval. So conveniently estranged from mommy.

The color drained from Thomas’s face as the recording continued. Vanessa laughingly describing how she planned to access his accounts after the wedding, how she needed the money from my house to cover a few financial hiccups her fiance knew nothing about. When the recording ended, the silence in the room was absolute.

Thomas sat heavily on a small settee, the papers trembling in his hands. There’s more, I said gently. Financial records showing she was fired from her firm three months ago for falsifying client billings, credit card statements showing over $200,000 in debt, documentation of the previous weddings that never happened and the properties her former fiance’s parents sold to finance them.

Thomas stared at the evidence, his expression shifting from disbelief to confusion to a dawning horror that broke my heart to witness. She said she was promoted. He murmured almost to himself.

She’s been going to work every day. She shows me emails from her clients. His voice trailed off as he reached the falsified employment records.

She’s been lying to you, sweetheart. I said softly, using the endearment I hadn’t dared speak in months about her job, about her past, about her intentions. Thomas looked up at me and in that moment, I saw my little boy again, vulnerable, hurt, needing his mother’s comfort.

Why? He asked simply. Why me? I sat beside him, careful not to touch him yet, sensing he was too fragile for physical comfort. Rebecca says Vanessa researches potential targets carefully.

Men who are professionally successful but not independently wealthy. Men close to their parents, especially if those parents own property outright. Men who might be socially insecure, in some way, eager to please and impress.

And men with some estrangement from a parent, Beatrice added gently, creating a vulnerability she could exploit. Thomas flinched at that, his gaze dropping to his hands. After dad died, he said quietly, I threw myself into work, into building something that would make him proud, make you proud.

Oh, Thomas, I breathed, my heart breaking. Your father was already proud of you. So am I. Not for what you’ve achieved professionally, but for who you are.

Who am I? He asked bitterly, gesturing to his tuxedo, the opulent surroundings. Someone. Who was ready to cut his mother out of his life for a woman who saw him as nothing but a meal ticket.

Someone so desperate for status that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. You’re human, I said firmly. We all make mistakes.

We all want to be loved, to belong. Vanessa exploited that very human need. A sharp knock at the door interrupted us.

Andy poked his head in, his expression tense. Thomas, everyone’s waiting. The officiant says we need to start in five minutes or we’ll lose our time slot for the garden ceremony.

Thomas stared at the documentation in his lap, then at me, indecision written across his features. What do I do? He asked, sounding younger than I’d heard him in years. There are 200 people out there.

Vanessa’s family, my colleagues, everyone we know. You have options, Beatrice said practically. You can postpone, citing an emergency.

You can go through with it, knowing what you know and deal with the aftermath later. Or you can end it now. Thomas ran a hand through his carefully styled hair, disrupting it in a way that reminded me powerfully of his father.

If I postpone or go through with it, I’m just prolonging the inevitable, aren’t I? Once I know this, I can’t unknow it. No, I agreed softly. You can’t.

Another knock, more insistent this time. Thomas! It was Vanessa’s father, his authoritative voice unmistakable even through the door. What’s the hold up? Vanessa is ready to process in.

Thomas took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders in a gesture so like James that tears pricked my eyes. I need to see her, he said standing up. I need to look her in the eyes when I ask her about this.

Is that wise? Beatrice asked, concern, furrowing her brow. She might try to talk her way out of it, manipulate the situation. Thomas gathered the evidence, folding it carefully and tucking it into his jacket pocket…