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Page 48 of Before I Say I Don’t

Jayla crumbled under the weight of it. The harder she cried, the worse they cut into her.

“Where’s your dignity?!” A woman snapped. “Pregnant by somebody else’s fiancé? Your best friend’s at that? Triflin’ as fuck!”

A few boos trickled in from the back.

Jayla’s lips trembled, eyes glossing, but I didn’t let up.

“Let me leave you with this: you never win when you build your house on somebody else’s foundation. The man who cheats with you will cheat on you. And when he does, you’re not a queen—you’re the punchline.”

Laughter and claps bounced off the walls.

Jayla sobbed, humiliated.

“Now, Miss Jayla. You sat at my table, drank my wine, called me sis … all while plotting behind my back. So I’m asking you, on record, for the jury to hear—how do you plead?”

“The court will remind the defendant that lying under oath comes with consequences,” Danica warned, voice cool. “One false word and I’ll hold her in contempt of this wedding.”

Somebody exclaimed, “Yes, Judge Danica!” from the mid-section.

“I—” Jayla started, but Danica sliced a hand through the air, cutting her off, not giving her a chance to stutter out an excuse.

“The court finds Jayla guilty on all counts—betrayal, trifling in the first degree, and emotional fraud.”

Danica let it breathe, her gaze sweeping the room, milking the silence like a seasoned judge. Then she slammed the verdict down.

“Sentence—banishment from the best-friend circle, permanent revocation of bridesmaid privileges, denial of girls’ trip access, and a lifetime of being side-eyed at every brunch within a fifty-mile radius.

Effective immediately, her seat at the table is vacated, her group chat privileges revoked, and her loyalty card with Kamira Inc. shredded. ”

Jayla dropped her bouquet, visibly trembling and mascara bleeding while whispers followed her like smoke.

“Oh,” I added one last thing. “And as for the way you’ve talked about me?” I tilted my head, letting humor find its place. “Girl, if you were hungry at my shower, just say that. But don’t eat off my plate and then lick your fingers over my name.”

Serena couldn’t help it. A tiny “Whew!” escaped her.

I turned away, fixing my gaze on Diane.

“Alright, jury… next case: Kamira vs. The Wanna-Be Bougie Mother-in-Law. ”

The whole room howled .

I took a step closer.

Diane straightened her pearls before I reached her.

“Her charge?” I chuckled. “Obstruction of daughter-in-law happiness in the first degree. Let me finally say all the things I’ve been choking back.

Diane, you wanted this day… I know you did.

You and I have danced for months. You wanted satin bows; I wanted clean lines.

You wanted preserves at the favor table; I wanted recipes over jars.

You wanted a son to look like a man in public; I wanted one to be a man in private.

Now, you might didn’t truly want me as a daughter, but I wanted a mother who would live long enough to sit in the front row and say she was proud of me. ”

A hush fell like a blanket. I could almost feel my mother’s presence beside me for a breath.

I leaned into the mic. “You wanted photos for Facebook and status more than you wanted a daughter-in-law. Admit it. You didn’t care about truth, loyalty, or respect; you cared about how the cake matched the napkins.

” I lowered my voice. “Now, I will give you grace… because you say you didn’t know about his child .

” I paused, let the silence burn, then delivered it.

“Cause if you did, you’d just be a deadbeat mother-in-law in fake pearls. ”

Hands flew to mouths, and people doubled over in giggles.

Diane’s face twisted in fury, fighting to stay composed.

“Let’s hear the sentencing,” I said, ready to get it over with.

“Throw the book at her, Judge Danica!” som e one playfully suggested.

Danica had her bouquet gripped like a gavel and face set in mock solemnity, but her eyes glinted with real fire.

“The court finds the defendant guilty of bougie delusions, guilty of thinking Pottery Barn parenting raises kings, and guilty of fake pearls and faker morals.” Danica gave a dramatic pause, then delivered the line like a final blow.

“Sentence: death by reputation collapse. You will forever walk into rooms and be met with whispers, rolled eyes, and empty seats next to you! No parole! No appeals! Bailiffs, get her out of my sight!”

A loud “Lord!” came from somebody’s granny.

I had cracked smiles at the other “sentences,” but I didn’t really laugh at any of them—that one was different.

That one was Danica all the way through.

She meant every single word, and I knew it.

If that had been a real trial, in a real courtroom, with her in a black robe instead of a champagne dress?

Danica would’ve handed that woman the death penalty without blinking.

And judging by the crowd’s reaction, they would have cheered the verdict.

Security swooped in fast, two guards flanking Diane on each side.

She shouted, kicked, and her pearls rattled at her throat as they lifted her half off the ground.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare put your hands on me!”

Viangelo shoved against his own guards, voice cracking. “Don’t touch my mama! Get your damn hands off her!”

But the guards didn’t budge. They hauled Diane straight down the aisle like she was a defendant being dragged out of a real courtroom, her heels scraping against the runner.

And me? I stood there in the center, mic still in hand, calm as ever, while laughter rolled over me and my almost- mother-in-law got escorted out in disgrace.

“Actually,” I called out, halting them mid-step. The room quieted, curious. “Let her stay. She deserves front-row seats to the circus she helped create. After all…” my gaze cut to Viangelo, “she raised the main act.”

The guards glanced at me, then released her. Diane straightened her dress with shaky hands, stomping back to her seat.

I steadied the mic, letting the room quiet just enough for my voice to slice through.

I whispered into the mic, calm and final, ‘Last case on today’s docket. And you know what they say…” I smiled slowly. “…save the best for last.”

The crowd stirred, leaning forward like they already knew what was coming.

“ Kamira vs. Viangelo: The Case of the Almost Husband, Always a Joke— with sidepieces as witnesses and child support as co-counsel .”

The whole room gasped and hollered at once… even the organist fumbled her keys.

I turned and faced Viangelo directly—the man who had once been my everything.

“Viangelo, you stand accused of more than broken vows. Charge One: fraudulent fiancé—posing as a husband-to-be while living as a community boyfriend. Charge Two: infidelity in the first, second, and third degree—because you didn’t just cheat once, you made it a lifestyle.

Charge Three: conspiracy to embarrass the bride publicly through lies, baby mamas, and sidepieces—a premeditated act with reckless disregard for dignity.

And Charge Four: emotional embezzlement—stealing love, trust, and time you never earned.

Lastly, draining me of a year and a half that I can’t get back. How do you plead?”

The room went still. All eyes were pinned to him.

Viangelo clenched his jaw, chest rising and falling fast. He didn’t say a word. His silence filled the space, heavier than any confession.

“That’s a guilty face if I ever saw one.”

“Not even a defense? Whew.”

Marcus shook his head, loud enough for half the room to hear. Another associate beside him murmured in agreement right before our boss nudged them both sharply in their sides, his eyes wide like, don’t y’all dare get us dragged into this.

I tilted my head. “Not guilty by silence, huh? Let the record reflect that the defendant refuses to answer. Which, in this courtroom, counts as an admission.”

Danica chimed in. “The silence of the defendant will be noted as guilty on all charges.”

Viangelo glared at me, veins bulging in his neck. But surrounded by security, he couldn’t move an inch.

“Fine! You want the truth? I’m guilty—guilty of loving you, guilty of wanting you and everything else too! Yeah, I wanted my cake and my icing, because I didn’t know how to choose. But I swear to God, Kamira, you were always the one.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, the tension snapping tight.

I lifted the mic slow, my smile sharp and final. “Cake and icing? That’s real cute. But here’s the thing, Viangelo—I’m not dessert. I’m the whole damn meal. And if you were too greedy to appreciate that, then your guilty plea stands.”

Viangelo’s face crumpled under the weight of his own words.

“But before we proceed to sentencing, there are a few more things I’d like to say,” I stated, bracing myself to let it all out.

“Angelo, you were my love, my confidant, my future… or at least that’s what I foolishly clung to.

I poured everything into us—my time, my patience, my heart, and even my dreams. I built around you, built with you, even when you gave me scraps.

I watered soil that was never fertile, and I still believed something would grow.

I defended you when people doubted. I stood by you when you were late, when you were sloppy, when you were everything but the man you swore you’d be.

I ignored the red flags because I thought the love I carried was enough to cover the cracks you created. ”

I scoffed, the sound bitter, recalling all the late nights, the excuses, and whispers I pretended not to hear.

“I put up with lies dressed as charm, broken promises dressed as busy, and disrespect dressed as mistakes. I’ll admit, when I found out about the baby, the other women, and you sleeping with my best friend…

it broke something in me. But here’s the thing about heartbreak—it doesn’t kill you.

Sometimes it just clears space for real love, the kind that doesn’t come with conditions or hidden agendas, to step into your life. ”

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