At my wedding, the mother-son dance was meant to be a heartfelt tribute to my grandmother—the woman who had raised me. But when the DJ called us to the dance floor, my heart sank; Grandma Eleanor was missing, and in her place, my stepmother, Linda, stood with a bright smile, as if she had been expecting this moment. I had carefully planned every detail of the celebration, and now I was realizing that something was terribly wrong.
I scanned the reception hall, my excitement turning into concern. Everything had gone perfectly during the ceremony, yet now a feeling of unease crept over me. I turned to my bride, Maddie, and asked if she had seen Grandma. “She said she was going to the restroom a while ago,” Maddie replied, her voice gentle yet uncertain. That was unusual—Grandma Eleanor was always reliable, the steady presence in my life, especially after my mother passed away.
As the DJ continued setting up for the dance, I checked Grandma’s table, but she wasn’t there. My concern deepened. Just then, my cousin Lisa rushed over, her expression anxious. “Ethan,” she said, taking a deep breath, “Grandma Eleanor is stuck in the restroom. The door won’t open.”
My heart pounded as I hurried down the hall, weaving between guests. When I reached the ladies’ room, I heard her voice from inside, calling for help. “Grandma! It’s me!” I said, pressing against the door. She sighed in relief. “Thank goodness, Ethan! I’ve been in here for quite a while—the door just wouldn’t budge!”
I quickly assessed the situation and called for staff to help. As I glanced around, something on the floor caught my eye—a gold earring. I immediately recognized it as one of Linda’s, the same pair she had proudly worn earlier that day. A sinking feeling formed in my stomach. Could this have been more than just an accident?
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