Page 112 of Before I Say I Don't
Danica hurled her bouquet in the air like it was a graduation cap.
“Case closed! Court adjourned! Y’all free to eat chicken now!”
I dropped the mic right onto the runner, laced my fingers with Roman’s, and prepared to walk out while the room fell apart behind us—or at least I thought that would be the happily ever after.
”Wait!”
The word sliced through the swirling chaos, instantly silencing the murmurs and laughter.
All eyes pivoted toward the back of the room.
A beautiful woman in a deep emerald dress stood tall, elegant and hair pinned back that suggested she had arrived with a specific purpose. She held no baby in her arms or partner at her side—only a slim, black folder clutched tightly to her chest, as if it contained the weight of her revelations.
The room grewsilent, tension palpable as everyone awaited her next move.
“Sorry, sis. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she announced, her voice steady yet imbued with an undercurrent of truth that felt like a sharp pinprick in my side. “I just came to see who wore the dress better.”
I blinked, taken aback by her approach. “Huh?” I managed to stammer, bewildered.
With an unyielding gaze, she continued, “I thought you should know you’re not the only one whoalmostmarried him. You were never going to be his real wife; you were just the mistress of honor.” She paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, before adding, “My name is Renée… andI’mthis man’s wife,”she revealed, shoulders squared.
A low hum rose up from the guests.
My mouth went dry, rendered speechless as my mind raced to process her revelation.
“What?!” The question escaped my lips before I could rein it in.
Renée remained unfazed by the reaction.
With a measured calm, she reached into the folder she held and extracted a crisp copy of a marriage certificate and an ID.
She extended both toward me; the documents were clean and official, as though they were Exhibit Z in a case againstme.
The ID puzzled me.
Same face. Same smug half-smile. But the name underneath?
Greg Randle.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why his name is different on the ID. Well… let’s just say I caught a case of identity fraud and heartbreak at the same time, sis.”
Renée gently took the ID out of my hand. With narrowed eyes, she stepped closer to Viangelo and flicked the ID toward him, letting it land at his feet like evidence entered into the record.
“You left that behind… careless mistake.”
I cared less about the fake ID in that moment. What really had me bound was that marriage certificate. That paper meant everything—and that’s what I was most concerned about.
I glanced down at the certificate—its print sharp and clear, no typo errors, no chance for deception. The truth was laid bare before me in government ink, the kind that didn’t smudge, didn’t fade, and sure as hell didn’t lie, even if it wasn’t the name I’d ever known him by.
“We got married three years ago… in Kansas, where I’m from,” Renée divulged. “So yeah, I came alongway to witness this moment. We’d been together a year before that—four years total. I thought I knew him. I thought I was building a life with him too. Then… one day, he just up and left. No explanation, no goodbye. The nigga disappeared like he never existed. Clearly, no home training on how to be agoodhusband—guess we see where he got that from.”
“Now you wait just a minute!” Diane shrilled in defense, springing to her feet.
“Oh, I’ve waited!” Renée snapped back. “For two years, I waited! I filed a missing person report when your son ghosted me like a bill he didn’t want to pay! I called every hospital, every morgue—hell, I even called animal control, thinking maybe he got hauled off with the strays! Nothing!”
Someone bellowed, “Not animal control!”
Renée pressed on, voice strong, not a single tear breaking through.
