I told Mrs. Delaney to cancel everything in writing and send every refund to my personal account only. Vivian had listed herself as the refund contact, forging my signature, so about fifty-nine thousand dollars in returned deposits would have landed in her private account. Mrs. Delaney flagged the file and sent me copies of the forms. By afternoon, a locksmith had changed every lock on my house, and I collected the spare key Vivian kept. At the bank, the manager closed the shared account and helped me file a report on the personal charges.

Three days later, a car roared into my driveway. Tyler and Vivian climbed out shouting before the engine even died. Vivian screamed that I had humiliated her in front of everyone she knew, and Tyler pounded on a door his key no longer opened. I stepped onto the porch, closed the door behind me, and set the binder, the bank statements, and the refund forms on the porch table.

Tyler read the statements first. Thirteen thousand dollars in, six hundred twenty-seven left, and line after line of spa days, designer boutiques, a hotel suite, and a gym membership. His hands began to shake. He said Vivian had told him every charge was a wedding expense, and he never checked because arguing with her always cost him something. Then he read the refund form and saw my forged signature. Vivian snapped that I was rich and would never miss it.

Tyler stared at her as if hearing himself in her voice. He ended the engagement on my porch, then turned to me and apologized for the ultimatum, the silence, and the photograph. Vivian left alone and later signed a written agreement repaying every charge. The venue returned the deposits to me, and Tyler took a second job to repay what remained. Months later, he knocked on my door, and I opened it because I wanted to. Gerald’s photograph still sat on its shelf.