Chapter 1: The Cut
The first thing I saw after my wedding ceremony was my mother-in-law smiling at me like she had just won.
The second thing I felt was a sharp tug on my hair.
Then came the sound of scissors closing.
I turned so fast my veil brushed my cheek, and for one frozen second, I couldn't understand what I was looking at.
Martha stood behind me with a pair of silver scissors in one hand and the end of my braid in the other.
My braid.
The braid I'd spent two hours having pinned and decorated with tiny white flowers.
The braid that fell all the way down my back when I walked into the reception.
Now it ended at my neck.
A thick piece of my hair hung from Martha's hand like a trophy.
I touched the back of my head.
My fingers found a jagged, uneven line.
"No," I whispered.
The music seemed to disappear.
The laughter disappeared.
Even the clinking of glasses faded into a dull ringing in my ears.
"What did you do?"" I screamed.
Martha laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Honey," she said, holding up my severed braid, "don't be so dramatic. It's a family tradition.""
Someone near the dance floor gasped.
My cousin Jenna covered her mouth.
A waiter stopped halfway across the room with a tray of champagne.
And somewhere behind me, someone whispered, "She did not just do that.""
I couldn't breathe.
My eyes filled so quickly that the room became a blur.
"My hair..."" I said.
Martha shrugged.
"It's only hair. It'll grow back.""
"Tradition?"" Jenna snapped.
"What tradition?""
Martha turned toward her with an offended little smile.
"You wouldn't understand. You're not part of the family.""
That was when everyone looked toward Nick.
My husband.
He had been standing near the edge of the dance floor just seconds earlier.
Now he was gone.
I spun around.
"Nick?""
No answer.
I searched the crowd, expecting to see him marching toward us, furious, ready to tell his mother exactly what she had done.
But he wasn't there.
My stomach dropped.
Martha noticed.
For the first time all evening, her smile changed.
It became smug.
"He needed a minute," she said.
"Where is he?""
"He'll be back.""
I stared at her.
"You cut my hair at my wedding.""
Martha tilted her head.
"And?""
"And you think he'll be okay with this?""
She gave a soft little laugh.
"You've always been so sensitive.""
For years, I'd tried to be patient with Martha.
I had tried because Nick loved his mother.
And because I'd convinced myself that people sometimes said cruel things when they were afraid of losing someone.
Martha had disliked me from the day she met me at sixteen.
Nick and I had been dating for less than a month when she pulled me aside in her kitchen.
"You seem sweet," she'd said.
I remember smiling.
"Thank you.""
"But you're not really the kind of girl I pictured for Nicholas.""
I didn't understand.
"Why?""
She had leaned against the counter, folded her arms, and looked me over from head to toe.
"You're nice. That's not enough.""
At the time, I thought she was being protective.
Later, I learned exactly what she wanted.
Her best friend's daughter.
Catherine.
Beautiful, polished, wealthy Catherine, who'd grown up riding horses on a private estate and spent summers in Europe.
Martha talked about her constantly.
"Catherine understands our family.""
"Catherine was raised properly.""
"Catherine knows how to run a home.""
"Catherine has a future.""
And whenever she looked at me, I could almost hear the comparison happening in her head.
Poor.
Unrefined.
Not enough.
Nick always defended me eventually.
But he did it carefully.
Too carefully.
He hated fighting with his mother.
"Martha, stop," he'd say.
"Mom, she's my girlfriend.""
"Mom, don't talk to her like that.""
Never enough to make Martha stop.
Never enough to make me feel safe.
Still, Nick and I stayed together.
Through college.
Through our first tiny apartment with the broken heater.
Through arguments about money.
Through late-night takeout on our kitchen floor.
Through every impossible year that somehow brought us closer.
When he proposed, he got down on one knee in the apartment where we had once counted coins to see if we could afford pizza.
His hands were shaking.
Mine were, too.
"Emily," he said, "I've loved you since we were kids. I don't want another life.""
I cried so hard I could barely answer.
"Yes.""
We both knew his mother would hate the wedding.
We just didn't realize how far she would go.
Now, standing in the middle of our reception with my hair chopped off, I looked at the empty space where Nick had been.
I felt something inside me crack.
"Call him," I said.
Martha smiled.
"Why?""
"Because I want my husband.""
"Oh, Emily.""
She sighed like I was being unreasonable.
"Stop embarrassing yourself.""
That sentence made something in me go still.
I straightened.
"You're the one who cut my hair.""
"It will grow back.""
"You've said that three times.""
"Because it's true.""
"Then why are you smiling?""
Martha's eyes narrowed.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she lifted the braid again.
"You know," she murmured, "I always thought this would happen differently.""
"What?""
"This family has expectations.""
I stared at her.
"I don't care.""
"You should.""
"I don't.""
She stepped closer.
"You married into this family today.""
"No," I said quietly.
"I married Nick.""
Her face hardened.
"And that's exactly the problem.""
Before I could answer, Jenna stepped between us.
"Back away from her.""
Martha scoffed.
"Don't involve yourself.""
"She is my cousin.""
"This is a family matter.""
"Then maybe your family should have taught you not to assault the bride.""
A few guests looked away.
Others pulled out their phones.
Martha noticed.
Her expression twisted with anger.
"You all need to calm down," she snapped.
"You're making a scene over a haircut.""
"A haircut?"" Jenna said.
"You cut it without permission.""
Martha waved her hand.
"Enough.""
I couldn't stop staring at the hair in her fingers.
My wedding photographs were still being taken.
Our first dance had been interrupted.
My dress was perfect.
The flowers were perfect.
Everything I had dreamed about had been perfect.
And now my hair was lying on the floor beneath my wedding shoes.
A small piece of my braid rested beside a white flower that had fallen loose.
I bent down and picked it up.
My hand shook.
That's when my phone vibrated.
I looked at the screen.
Nick.
My heart jumped.
I answered immediately.
"Nick?""
Silence.
Then his voice.
Calm.
Far too calm.
"Em, are you with my mom?""
I looked straight at Martha.
"Yes.""
Another pause.
"Did she cut your hair?""
My throat tightened.
"Yes.""
Martha folded her arms.
I heard Nick breathe out on the other end.
"Don't leave the reception.""
"What?""
"Just stay there.""
"Nick, where are you?""
"I need you to trust me.""
My eyes narrowed.
"Trust you?""
"Please.""
"What are you doing?""
"I'll be back soon.""
Then the line went dead.
I lowered the phone.
Martha immediately stepped forward.
"What did he say?""
I didn't answer.
She grabbed my wrist.
"What did Nick say?""
I pulled away.
"He said he'd be back.""
Martha's face went pale for half a second.
Then the smugness returned.
"See?"" she said.
"He knows how I am.""
But something about her voice had changed.
She wasn't confident anymore.
She was worried.
The reception slowly started again, but nobody was celebrating the same way.
People whispered.
The band played softer songs.
My father kept staring toward the entrance.
Jenna stayed beside me.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Martha checked her phone every few minutes.
At forty-five minutes, she suddenly stopped pretending everything was normal.
"Where is he?"" she muttered.
I looked at her.
"I thought you said he'd be back.""
She ignored me.
Another ten minutes passed.
Then the doors of the restaurant opened.
Nick walked in.
He wasn't alone.
Every conversation in the room died at once.
Martha turned.
The color drained completely from her face.
Because the woman standing beside my husband was the last person on earth she ever expected to see.
And when that woman whispered something into Nick's ear, Martha dropped the scissors and screamed,
May you like
"No!""
Then she ran for the exit.
