That night, I caught Betty in the kitchen, burning our wedding photos by candlelight, whispering words I didn’t understand. When I dragged Liam down, the evidence was gone. He chalked it up to a dream. The next day I searched her room. Dolls with pins, my photo taped to their heads, burned pictures, a notebook of spells. I took photos. At dinner, I confronted her. Liam saw the drawer himself.
“You were supposed to marry Alice,” she said calmly. “I was protecting you.” We locked our door that night. At dawn, I uploaded everything to her church and neighbors. By evening, Betty’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Liam carried our bags out.
In the car, he took my hand. “I’m sorry. Thank you for fighting.” Sometimes the only spell you need is daylight.