Thirty seconds later, another message appeared.
**You have no idea what you just did.**
Michael read it over my shoulder.
“Save that.”
I did.
Then I looked at my daughter.
“What happens now?”
Michael answered first.
“Now we stop treating this like a family argument.”
Outside, thunder rolled across the Chicago suburbs.
Back at the hotel, ninety guests were slowly discovering there would be no wedding.
But Rebecca wasn’t finished.
Neither were we.
Part 3
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