He hadn’t mentioned this to me. And the way Natalie spoke about the inheritance as if it were her primary motivation. I felt physically ill that night.
I called my sister Judith in tears. “I don’t think she loves him, Jude. I think she loves what comes with him.” “Have you talked to Jackson about your concerns?” Judith asked.
“I’ve tried, but whenever I bring up anything remotely critical about Natalie, he gets defensive. It’s like he has blinders on. And now I find out they’re planning to move away without even discussing it with me.”
“Maybe you need to be more direct,” Judith suggested. “Show him evidence of how she really feels.” But I couldn’t bear the thought of breaking my son’s heart right before his wedding.
I decided to wait until after the honeymoon to have a serious conversation with him, a decision I would come to regret deeply. The next day, I discovered something even more concerning. My housekeeper, Maria, mentioned that Natalie had been asking detailed questions about my daily routine, what medications I took, and whether I used sleeping aids.
When Maria asked why she wanted to know, Natalie claimed she was planning a health intervention because she was worried about my well-being. Maria didn’t believe her and felt uncomfortable enough to tell me. That same afternoon, I overheard Natalie on the phone saying, “Once we have access to the accounts, we can easily sell off those properties she’s so sentimental about. Jackson won’t put up much resistance. He always comes around to my way of thinking.”
My heart sank. The properties she referred to included the first building I ever purchased, now a community center providing free child care for single parents and the vacation home where Jackson had spent every summer growing up. These weren’t just assets, they were parts of our family history.
I decided to do some research on Natalie’s background. What I discovered was troubling. She had claimed to have graduated from Parson’s School of Design, but a call to their alumni office revealed no record of her attendance.
The family money she often referenced had apparently evaporated in some never explained financial disaster. And most concerning, she had been engaged twice before both times to wealthy men, with both engagements ending mysteriously just before the weddings. When I gently tried to broach the subject of her education with Jackson, mentioning I was putting together a detailed wedding announcement for the local paper, he cut me off.
“Mom, stop digging into Natalie’s past. She’s had a difficult life and doesn’t like to talk about it. I need you to respect that.” The night before the wedding, we held a small family dinner. Natalie was especially solicitous, insisting I try a particular wine she had selected just for me.
It had a strange aftertaste, but I drank it to be polite. She also suggested I take one of her special herbal sleep supplements to ensure I was well rested for the big day. Something in her tone made me uneasy, so I pretended to take it, but disposed of it later.
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.
I called Maria, my housekeeper, who confirmed my suspicions. She had arrived early to help me prepare for the day and heard noises from my room late the previous night. “I thought it was you moving around, Mrs. Wilson,” she said tearfully.
“But then I saw Miss Natalie leaving your room. She said you weren’t feeling well and had asked her to get something for you. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” The wedding was scheduled for 2:00 p.m., just 4 hours away.
I sat on the edge of my bed, utterly devastated. “What was I supposed to do now? Stay home?” as Natalie demanded. The thought of missing my only child’s wedding was unbearable.
But the thought of appearing bald without proper clothes and being subjected to whispers and staires was equally horrifying. For a moment, I considered calling the police. What Natalie had done was assault, plain and simple.
But that would mean disrupting the entire wedding, creating a scandal, and potentially damaging my relationship with Jackson beyond repair. No matter how hurt and angry I was, I couldn’t bring myself to do that to my son. I went to the bathroom and looked at my reflection again.
The stranger staring back at me looked vulnerable and old in a way I had never seen myself before. But as I continued to look, something shifted in my expression. The initial shock and horror began to give way to something else determination.
I thought of all I had overcome in my life, all the challenges I had faced and conquered. This would not break me. In that moment, I made a decision.
I would attend this wedding. Not only would I attend, but I would hold my head high, literally. And I would make some changes to my plans for the inheritance transfer that was scheduled for tomorrow.
Natalie had shown her true colors in the most dramatic way possible. And now it was time for me to protect my son from the predator he was about to marry, even if he couldn’t yet see her for what she was. I picked up my phone again, but this time I didn’t call Jackson.
Instead, I called my sister Judith and my lawyer. It was time to take action. “Oh my god,” Babette Judith gasped when she arrived at my house.
Her hands flew to her mouth as she took in my bald head and tear streaked face. “Who did this to you?” I handed her Natalie’s note with trembling fingers.
As Judith read it, her expression morphed from shock to rage. “This is assault,” she said firmly. “We need to call the police.”
“I can’t,” I replied, my voice breaking. “Not today. Not on Jackson’s wedding day.” “Babette, look what she did to you. She drugged you and shaved your head. This is beyond a bridezilla moment. This is criminal.”
I sank onto my sofa. The weight of the situation crushing me. “If I call the police now, Jackson will never forgive me. You know how he is, Jude. He’s completely under her spell.”
Judith sat beside me, taking my hand in hers. “Then what are you going to do? You can’t possibly attend the wedding like this.” But I had already made up my mind.
“Actually, I can and I will. I just need your help.” Over the next 2 hours, Judith transformed into my personal crisis manager. She called her stylist friend who arrived with three different wigs.
We selected one that most closely resembled my natural silver hair, though the style was different, shorter, and more modern than I would have chosen. Since my dress was destroyed, Judith raided my closet and found a simple but elegant navy blue dress I had worn to a charity event the previous year.
“It’s not traditional for the mother of the groom, but under the circumstances, it’s perfect,” she declared. As I stared at my reflection now, somewhat restored but still fundamentally changed, a deep sadness washed over me. “This should have been one of the happiest days of my life, watching my beloved son, Mary.”
Instead, it had become a nightmare. “I just don’t understand the level of hatred it would take to do something like this,” I whispered. Judith’s face hardened.
“It’s not about hatred, Babs. It’s about money. $120 million to be exact. Natalie sees you as an obstacle to her control over Jackson and his inheritance.” The truth of her words hit me like a physical blow.
“Do you think Jackson knows about any of this? About who she really is?” “I think Jackson is in love with the version of Natalie she wants him to see,” Judith replied gently. “And love can be the most effective blindfold.”
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