Chapter 4

4: 4

4.

By the time I reached the hotel where the banquet was being held, hardly anyone had come.

And when they saw me, every set of eyes looked at me the way you'd look at something filthy.

I stood alone at the far end of the stage.

The emcee called out to my father, a little awkwardly.

"Sir, it should be you who gives your daughter away."

My father sat in the seat of honor and said mockingly,

"The Dickersons have only one daughter, and that's Melinda Dickerson."

As if afraid I'd cling to him, he walked up onto the stage and took the microphone.

"I'd like to say something today, to all our friends and family."

"From now on, the Dickersons have Melinda, and no April."

His face dark, he pulled out the family records and tore out my page.

I stood at the other end of the stage. The spotlight stung until my eyes ached.

The torn page was crumpled into a ball and tossed to the floor.

I looked at that wad of paper and felt something lodge in my throat.

I swallowed hard and asked in a hoarse voice,

"Dad, why are you doing this to me?"

He turned away without even looking back, his voice like ice.

"You have no right to the name Dickerson."

Standing up there, I suddenly laughed.

Maybe it was because I'd swallowed too much over the years.

So much that in this moment I didn't feel the pain at all, only how absurd it was.

The guests below were talking.

"Look at her, still smiling. No shame at all."

"If it weren't for the Sanchez family's face, I wouldn't have shown up today."

I'd just opened my mouth when that warmth surged up in my nose again.

I clamped a hand over it, and blood seeped out slowly between my fingers.

The people below gasped.

"She's got a nosebleed, call an ambulance."

My mother stood up from the head table and gave me one cold look. "She's faking. She's loved putting on a show since she was little."

I couldn't keep my balance and fell to the floor.

My lungs felt hot, burning. I braced my arms to push myself up, but my body wouldn't obey.

Lambert frowned down at me, his tone sick of it all.

"April, it's just a nosebleed. What are you playing dead for?"

I wanted to speak, but the blood in my nose only came faster.

The emcee finally caught on, his voice tight with nerves.

"The bride really doesn't look well. An ambulance, someone call an ambulance!"

"What ambulance!" My father came up onto the stage and kicked me twice.

"She's done this her whole life! Scold her and she plays sick, hit her and she plays faint."

"She's already turned this wedding into a disgrace. Is that not enough for her?"

Aunt Colleen leaned in with her phone, filming a close-up.

"My, the blood looks pretty real. She didn't use one of those fake-blood packs, did she? That's how all the influencers do it now."

I lay sprawled on the floor and lifted my hand to tug at the hem of Lambert's trousers.

"Medicine. The medicine's in my bag."

Lambert put some force into it and pried my hand loose.

"Are you done? If you're done acting, get up yourself. Stop embarrassing everyone here."

I looked at Lambert and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Shock flickered across the man's face.

Then came disgust, and he took an instinctive step back.

Before my consciousness slipped away, I saw the doors of the banquet hall push open.

A woman in a white dress stood in the doorway, dragging a suitcase.