Throughout the evening, Natalie kept checking her watch and exchanging glances with her sister. There was an anticipation in her demeanor that made me nervous. As I prepared for bed that night, despite my reservations about Natalie, I still believed that my son’s happiness was what mattered most, I decided that I would go through with the inheritance transfer as planned.
After all, it was what Frank would have wanted for our son. I fell asleep thinking about the toast I would give at the reception, hoping my words might somehow bridge the growing gap between Natalie and myself. If only I had known what morning would bring, I might never have closed my eyes.
I awoke on Jackson’s wedding day feeling strangely groggy, my mouth dry and my thoughts fuzzy. Sunlight streamed through my curtains and for a moment I smiled thinking about the day ahead. My son was getting married.
Despite my concerns about Natalie, this was still a day for celebration. As I sat up in bed, I felt oddly laded. My hand automatically went to brush hair from my face, but something was wrong.
Instead of encountering my usual silver waves, my fingers met smooth skin. Confused, I touched my head again. Nothing, no hair at all.
I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the mirror, my heart pounding. The reflection that greeted me was horrifying. My entire head was completely bald.
Every strand of my silver hair, which I had always taken pride in, was gone. Not thinning, not partially missing, but completely shaved down to the skin. I stood frozen, unable to process what I was seeing.
Had I gone mad? Was this some bizarre nightmare? I pinched myself hard, but the reflection remained unchanged. This was real.
That’s when I noticed a folded piece of paper on my nightstand that hadn’t been there when I went to sleep. With trembling hands, I opened it. The handwriting was instantly recognizable as Natalie’s looping script.
Now you have the look that suits you, you ridiculous old woman. Try stealing attention at my wedding now. This is what happens to people who don’t know their place. The room seemed to spin around me.
Natalie had done this. She had somehow drugged me and shaved my head while I slept. The strange tasting wine, the herbal supplement she had tried to give me, it all made sense now.
Thank God I hadn’t actually taken that pill, or who knows what else might have happened. I collapsed onto the edge of my bed, my legs no longer able to support me. Tears streamed down my face as I touched my smooth scalp again, still unable to believe this was happening.
I had known Natalie was difficult, even manipulative, but this level of cruelty was beyond anything I could have imagined. With shaking hands, I reached for my phone to call Jackson. He needed to know what his bride had done.
But when I tried to call, the call went straight to voicemail. I sent a text. Jackson, something terrible has happened. I need to speak with you urgently.
No response. After 10 minutes of trying to reach him, my phone pinged with a message, but it wasn’t from Jackson. It was from Natalie.
Don’t bother trying to reach Jackson. He’s busy getting ready for his day. And don’t think about showing up looking for sympathy either. You deserved what you got for trying to control everything and make this wedding about you and your precious traditions. Stay home and out of our way.
I felt physically ill. Not only had she assaulted me, but she was now keeping me from contacting my own son on his wedding day. I went to my closet to get dressed, thinking I needed to get to the venue and speak to Jackson in person, only to discover another shock.
My mother of the groom dress, which had been carefully hung up the night before, was now in shreds on the floor. The pale blue silk was cut to ribbons beyond any hope of repair. As I stood staring at the destroyed dress, I noticed something else was missing.
The jewelry box that contained the pieces I had planned to wear, including an antique diamond brooch that had belonged to my grandmother, was gone from my dressing table. A quick search of my room revealed it was nowhere to be found. With growing horror, I began to piece together what had happened.
Natalie must have gained access to my house after I’d gone to bed. The security system keypad showed it had been disarmed at 11:30 p.m. and rearmed at 1:15 a.m. I knew Jackson had shared the code with Natalie months ago in case of emergencies.