In August, I encountered Spencer at a farm supply store. He introduced me to his friends as Jenna’s brother, the welder, making the word sound like an insult. When he told me there were no hard feelings about the wedding, I calmly reminded him that I had built the arch he planned to stand beneath. One of his friends immediately stopped laughing. A week later, an old white pickup arrived at my shop. A gray-haired man stepped out, examined my welding, and introduced himself as Harlan Ashford, Spencer’s father.
He studied my scarred hands before showing me his own. They were covered in burns and old injuries. After examining my father’s Lincoln welder, he asked about my family and the wedding. I explained that I hadn’t been invited. He looked troubled, then asked whether I had proof. After reading Jenna’s message, he called Spencer and put him on speakerphone. What Spencer said next changed everything.
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