The next morning, her inbox was already flooded with messages from Eleanor—lists, budgets, and vendor notes. Mia sighed, poured herself coffee, and opened the first email. She didn’t know it yet, but this was only the beginning of everything.
The first disaster arrived wrapped in politeness. The florist called to “confirm the cancellation.” Mia blinked. “Cancellation?” The woman apologized profusely, clarifying that Eleanor had called that morning, claiming the bride wanted a different vendor. The deposit was already refunded. Mia’s stomach sank. She hadn’t canceled a thing.