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“Why is YOUR name on 519 of my wedding invitations?” Seven days before my wedding, I stared at the boxes. Only ONE invitation had my name, printed so small it looked like a footnote. Madison, my husband's childhood friend, shrugged. “Oops. Printer mix-up.” Nathan didn't even blink. “Just fix the digital ones. Stop making a scene.” The paper carried my late father's printed blessing. “Then the wedding's off.” “We're already legally married,” Nathan snapped. “Then I want a divorce.” I accepted the three-year conservation fellowship I'd given up for our wedding. When Nathan came home, I was gone. On his desk sat one last piece of paper. Not a wedding invitation. My signed divorce settlement. Seven days before the wedding, the stationer delivered 520 paper invitations to my house. I opened the first one, and my fingers froze. The bride's name read: Madison Brooks. I didn't believe it. I opened the second, the third, the fourth. All 519 of them carried Madison's name. Only the last one had a sticky note tucked in the corner. [For my future sister-in-law. Don't be mad.] My own name was squeezed at the very bottom, in a font so small it looked like a footnote. Madison stood in the doorway, pen in hand, smiling at me. "See? I told you the printer was fast. Nathan asked me to go over them with him, and I guess I accidentally put my own name in." Nathan Caldwell stepped out of the elevator just as she said it. He only frowned. "Don't start." Madison immediately raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll pay. I'll pay for all 520." She slid the top invitation into Nathan's suit pocket. "But I'm keeping this one. You never know. It might come in handy someday." Nathan didn't take it out. He looked at me like he was handling a minor inconvenience. "There's no time. We can fix the digital version. We don't need to reprint the paper ones." No reprint. He knew I had spent three months choosing the paper. He knew my father had loved handwritten art, so I had pick
