I hung up.
Apparently, ‘leftovers’ hit a nerve, because Henry wouldn’t stop calling. When I didn’t answer, he switched to spamming me with texts.
I ignored all of them.
In ten days, I’d be marrying Ray, and Henry, Betty, and the whole circus would be nothing but a bad memory.
I was planning to ride out those last days in peace, detached and unbothered, but no—Betty just had to bring the drama.
She shattered my dad’s urn.
The ashes spilled everywhere, but it wasn’t enough for her. Nope. Her cat strutted in, did its business right on the remains, and Betty? She had the audacity to grin.
“Daphne, look! The ashes make great litter for my cat!”
And just like that, all the grief, the rage, everything I’d been holding back exploded.
I just grabbed the baseball bat behind the door and swung.
