Pregnant Ex Walked Into His Wedding With Folder — What She Read Made Bride Run Screaming

Описание: The February rain hammered against the stained glass windows of St. Catherine's Cathedral like thousands of tiny fists demanding entry. Inside, three hundred guests sat waiting, their designer clothes rustling with anticipation as they whispered about the ceremony that should have started twenty minutes ago.

Maya Chen stood at the back of the cathedral, one hand pressed against the ancient oak door for balance, the other clutching a manila folder against her chest like armor. She was eight months pregnant, her belly swollen beneath a simple black dress that cost less than the bridesmaids' shoes. Water dripped from her dark hair onto the marble floor, creating small pools that reflected the candlelight.

She hadn't planned to come. Had spent the past three weeks convincing herself that showing up would be petty, vindictive, beneath her. But then the contractions had started that morning—false labor, the doctor had assured her—and something inside her had shifted. Some primal instinct that whispered: Your daughter deserves to see this.

Through the doors, she could hear the string quartet playing Pachelbel's Canon for the third time, the melody taking on a desperate quality as the minutes ticked past. She could picture Marcus at the altar, checking his Rolex with barely concealed irritation, his perfect jaw clenched in that way she'd once found attractive but now recognized as barely controlled rage at things not going exactly as planned.
Maya pushed open the door.

The sound echoed through the cathedral like a gunshot. Three hundred heads turned in unison, a wave of shock rippling through the crowd as they took in the pregnant woman standing in the doorway, soaked to the skin and visibly trembling.

Marcus Chen—thirty-four, devastatingly handsome in his Tom Ford tuxedo—went perfectly still at the altar. His best man touched his arm, saying something Maya couldn't hear, but Marcus didn't respond. He was staring at her with an expression she'd never seen before: pure, unadulterated fear.

Next to him, Sienna Montgomery looked like a porcelain doll that had just cracked down the middle. At twenty-six, she was everything Maya wasn't—blonde, willowy, the daughter of one of San Francisco's oldest families. Her Vera Wang wedding dress probably cost more than Maya's entire year's salary as a social worker. Her perfectly made-up face went from confusion to horror to rage in the space of three seconds.