Chapter 3: Two Hundred Witnesses
Rebecca's eyes went to the phone.
Then to me.
Then to the doors behind her, where two hundred guests sat waiting in silence.
"That's not what it looks like," she said.
"Then tell me what it looks like."
She straightened.
The bouquet in her hands didn't move.
"It's a friend's address.
I was arranging a car for after the reception.
For Emily.
So she wouldn't have to sit through the whole evening."
"A car," I said.
"Yes."
"To take my daughter somewhere.
Tonight.
Without telling me."
"I was going to tell you—"
"When?" Daniel said.
He hadn't put his phone away.
"Before or after the certificate was signed?"
Rebecca turned to him.
Something in her expression hardened.
"This doesn't involve you, Daniel."
"He's my best man," I said.
"It involves him."
Emily pressed her face against my shoulder.
I could feel her breathing — short, quick pulls of air.
I looked at the address on Daniel's screen again.
It wasn't a neighborhood I recognized.
I handed Emily to Daniel and took out my own phone.
I typed the address into the map.
It came up immediately.
Hillcrest Children's Residential Care.
Forty-seven minutes from the chapel.
The air went out of me.
"Rebecca."
She saw my face.
Her chin lifted.
"It's a good facility.
It's not what you're imagining.
Children like Emily — children with her needs — they thrive in structured environments.
I've toured it.
I've spoken to the director.
She would have her own room, her own schedule—"
"She has a room," I said.
"She has a schedule.
She has a father."
"You have a career.
You travel.
You can't be there every day and you know it." Her voice dropped, smooth and practiced, like she had rehearsed this.
"I was trying to make a practical decision for both of us.
For our future."
"Our future."
"Yes.
Ours.
The two of us.
That's what a marriage is."
I looked at her for a long moment.
The lace on her dress.
The flowers pinned perfectly in her hair.
The careful, patient expression on her face — the one she had worn for two years, through every family dinner, every school pickup, every bedtime story she had sat through without once looking at the page.
"How long?" I said.
"How long what?"
"How long have you been planning this?"
She didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
"I want to know," I said.
"I want to hear you say it."
"I've been thinking about our future since the day we got serious," she said.
"That's not a crime.
That's what adults do."
"You wrote a note to a seven-year-old telling her she was being sent away."
"I was trying to prepare her—"
"You told her I agreed."
The chapel had gone completely still.
I hadn't raised my voice.
I didn't need to.
The priest was standing at the altar fifteen feet away.
The front row — Rebecca's mother, her sister, three of her closest friends — all of them were watching.
Rebecca glanced back at them.
Then she turned to me and her voice went very quiet.
"We can still fix this," she said.
"We can walk up there right now and we can fix this.
Whatever you think you know, we can talk about it tonight.
Privately.
Like adults."
Emily lifted her head from Daniel's shoulder.
"Daddy," she said.
"I don't want to go to that place."
Rebecca's jaw tightened.
I reached over and took Emily back into my arms.
"Neither do I," I said.
"Neither do I, sweetheart."
I looked at Rebecca one more time.
She was still holding the bouquet.
Still standing in the exact spot where the photographer had told her to pause for the entrance shot.
"I need you to tell me the truth," I said.
"Right now.
Before either of us takes another step.
Who else knew about this?"
May you like
Her eyes moved — just slightly — toward the front row.
Toward her mother.
