By around three in the morning, I understood exactly what I was going to do about it. It had nothing to do with confronting her, and everything to do with making sure the truth of that day existed somewhere she couldn't quietly remove it from later.
⸻
The next morning, I called our photographer, a woman named Sasha who'd photographed my cousin's wedding two years earlier and whose work I trusted completely.
"I need to change something about the wedding day," I told her. "And I need you to keep it between us. Not a word to anyone in my fiancé's family. Not to his mother. Especially not to her."
Sasha was quiet for a second.
"Okay," she said. "Tell me."
⸻
