The screen lit up: `COUSIN SARAH`.
Sarah had been the only relative who had brought groceries to my house after Grace died, the only cousin who had refused to attend Chloe’s bridal showers.
I tapped the screen, lifting the receiver to my ear:
“Sarah? Is Amelia alright?”
Sarah’s breath came in ragged, hyperventilating gasps across the line:
“Annie… oh my God, Annie… you need to get in your car right now.”
My heart seized: “What happened?! Did Amelia get sick?! Is she hurt?!”
“Amelia is physically fine, Annie,” Sarah choked out, the background noise behind her a deafening, echoing roar of overlapping shouts, dropped programs, and gasping murmurs:
“Your nine-year-old daughter just stopped the wedding.”
