At first it was small things. She started taking better care of herself. Eating healthier.
Taking walks in the park. Practicing her vocal exercises every day. Then something bigger shifted inside her.
She stopped feeling like a victim and started feeling like a warrior. Vivian noticed the change. You’re different, she said one afternoon while they drank tea in Margaret’s apartment.
Different how? Margaret asked, one hand resting on her now very round belly. She was seven months pregnant and the baby was active, always kicking and moving. Stronger, Vivian said simply.
Like you’ve made peace with something. Margaret thought about that. I think I have, she said slowly.
For months I’ve been so angry at Richard. So hurt. So focused on what he took from me.
But recently I’ve started thinking about what I still have. This baby, she touched her belly tenderly. This baby is mine.
Richard walked away but I get to be this child’s mother. I get to feel every kick, every movement. I get to love this little one completely.
And that’s not a punishment. That’s a gift. Vivian’s eyes filled with tears.
Oh Margaret. That’s beautiful. And the wedding, Margaret continued.
I’ve decided I’m not going there as Richard’s ex-girlfriend or as someone he abandoned. I’m going there as a professional singer doing a job. He doesn’t have power over me unless I give it to him.
And I’m done giving him my power. That’s my girl, Vivian said raising her teacup in a toast. To Margaret Williams, singer mother to be and absolute warrior.
They clinked their teacups together and laughed. But that night, alone in her apartment, Margaret sat at her keyboard one more time. She played through You Left Me but love stayed from beginning to end.
The song was finished now, polished and powerful. She had no plans to perform it at the wedding. She would sing the traditional songs Patricia had requested.
She would do her job professionally, collect her money and leave. But still, Margaret saved the sheet music for her original song in her folder, right alongside the traditional wedding songs. Just in case.
One week before the wedding, Margaret received a large package at her door. She opened it to find an elegant midnight blue dress, the outfit Patricia had sent for her to wear at the wedding. Margaret held it up to the light.
It was beautiful with long sleeves and a flowing skirt that would accommodate her pregnant belly. The fabric was soft and expensive. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine how she would look in it.
Then reality crashed back. This wasn’t a fairy tale. This was a job.
A painful complicated job that she was doing for survival. Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Patricia.
Hi Margaret. Just confirming rehearsal is this Thursday at 2pm at the Grand Pearl Hotel. Please arrive on time so we can do a sound check and go through the song list.
Mr. Cole and Miss Stevens will be there. Looking forward to seeing you. Margaret’s stomach dropped.
She had to face Richard before the actual wedding. She had hoped to avoid him until the ceremony itself, but of course there would be a rehearsal. She texted back, I’ll be there.
Vivian came over that evening and found Margaret sitting on her couch, staring at the blue dress hanging on her closet door. You okay? Vivian asked. Rehearsal is Thursday, Margaret said quietly.
I have to see him Vivian. I have to stand in front of Richard and pretend everything is fine. Vivian sat beside her.
You can do this. Remember you’re not the same person he left. You’re stronger now.
Am I? Margaret’s voice wavered. Or am I just pretending to be strong? Sometimes pretending to be strong is how you become strong, Vivian said wisely. You fake it until it becomes real.
And Margaret listen to me, you’ve been faking nothing. You’ve survived. You’ve carried a baby while working multiple jobs.
You’ve kept a roof over your head with almost no money. You’ve turned pain into music. That’s not fake strength.
That’s the real thing. Margaret nodded slowly letting those words sink in. Now, Vivian said standing up with determination, let’s practice.
I’ll pretend to be Richard, and you practice looking at him without falling apart. For the next hour they rehearsed. Vivian played the role of Richard, cold, arrogant, dismissive.
And Margaret practiced responding with grace and professionalism. Hello Richard, Margaret said calmly even though her hands shook. Again, Vivian instructed.
Say it like you’re a professional singer meeting a client, not an ex-girlfriend meeting the man who broke her heart. They practiced until Margaret could say Richard’s name without her voice cracking. Until she could imagine standing near him without crying.
Until the armor around her heart felt strong enough to protect her. Thursday afternoon arrived too quickly. Margaret stood outside the Grand Pearl Hotel, her hand resting on her pregnant belly.
The building was massive and luxurious with marble columns and golden doors. Doormen in fancy uniforms opened the doors for guests. Margaret had never felt more out of place in her life.
She wore a simple black dress that stretched over her belly and comfortable flat shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun. She carried her folder of sheet music and tried to look confident.
You can do this, she whispered to herself. You can do this. Inside the hotel was even more impressive.
Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings. The floors were polished marble that reflected the light like mirrors. Everything smelled expensive and perfect.
A young woman in a business suit approached her. Margaret Williams? Yes that’s me. I’m Patricia Monroe.
We’ve spoken on the phone. Thank you so much for coming. Let me take you to the crystal ballroom where the ceremony will be.
Patricia led Margaret through long hallways decorated with gold framed paintings and fresh flowers. Finally they reached two enormous doors. The bride and groom are already inside with the wedding planner and the minister, Patricia said.
Ready? No Margaret thought. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready.
But she nodded and said, yes. Patricia pushed open the doors. The crystal ballroom took Margaret’s breath away.
It was enormous with 30 foot ceilings and massive windows that led in streams of golden sunlight. White chairs were arranged in perfect rows. A stage stood at the front with a grand piano and microphone stand.
Flowers were everywhere, white roses, orchids and lilies. And standing near the stage talking with an older woman who must have been the wedding planner, was Richard Cole. Margaret’s heart stopped.
He looked exactly as she remembered, tall handsome, perfectly dressed in an expensive suit. His hair was styled immaculately. His watch caught the light and sparkled.
He was laughing at something the wedding planner said, looking completely relaxed and happy. He looked like a man who had everything he wanted. Like a man with no regrets and no conscience.
Then Richard turned and saw Margaret. For just a moment, less than a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Guilt? Recognition? Margaret couldn’t tell.
But just as quickly his expression became smooth and neutral, like a mask sliding into place. Ah, he said, his voice carrying across the ballroom. The entertainment has arrived.
The entertainment. Not Margaret. Not even the singer.
The entertainment. Those words hit Margaret like a slap. But she had practiced for this.
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and walked toward the stage with her head held high. Hello, she said, her voice calm and professional. I’m Margaret Williams, the vocalist for your ceremony…
