Madison laughed bitterly.
“She’s been moping for two months, acting sick and exhausted just to get attention before my wedding!”
My chest tightened.
Ethan’s face went cold.
“My wife had a miscarriage six weeks ago.”
Someone gasped.
“We lost our baby,” he continued, his voice breaking. “While she was grieving in silence, you were planning how to make her look fat in a photograph for a fifty-dollar bet.”
Madison covered her mouth.
“I didn’t know.”
“You knew I was hurting,” I said. “You just didn’t care why.”
Then Jenna, one of the bridesmaids, stepped forward.
“It wasn’t just a joke,” she said quietly. “And it didn’t start with the bikini.”
Madison panicked. “Jenna, stop.”
Jenna held up her phone.
“Tell them about the group chat. ‘Operation Solo Ethan.’”
Madison went pale.
Jenna looked at us, ashamed.
