Chapter 1: The Garden Note
The sun caught the white stone paving of the garden venue, turning the manicured lawn into a blinding sweep of green and gold. Up ahead, the white floral arch stood like a symmetrical promise, its imported roses smelling faintly sweet in the afternoon heat. But my chest felt hollow. I stood frozen in my black tuxedo, the silk bowtie suddenly tight against my throat, staring down at my daughter. Seven-year-old Emily was trembling in her white flower girl dress, the delicate flower crown slipping sideways on her long blonde hair. Tears were tracking clean paths through the dust on her cheeks.
"Emily, what happened?" I asked, my voice barely carrying over the distant murmur of the string quartet tuning up inside the chapel.
She didn't answer right away. She just stared at me with wide, terrified blue eyes, her chest hitching with suppressed sobs. Training herself not to scream, not to make a scene—a habit she’d picked up over the last eighteen months of our engagement. She reached into the pocket of her tiny dress and pulled out a crumpled square of heavy wedding stationery. Her small, cold fingers pressed it into my palm before she covered her face, her shoulders shaking.
I knelt down on the damp grass, ignoring the risk to my trousers. I smoothed out the heavy paper. The handwriting was neat, slanted, unmistakably feminine. Rebecca said I have to leave forever.
May you like
The words didn't compute at first. They sat there on the page, stark black ink against cream-colored paper, mocking the festive surroundings. My eyes darted from the note to Emily, who was now biting her lower lip so hard it was turning white. The gentle hum of the string quartet stopped. Somewhere behind me, a guest laughed—a light, cascading sound of high society excitement. I closed my hand around the paper until the thick cardstock cut into my skin. The sharp pain grounded me, pulling me out of the fog. I stood up slowly, the blood roaring in my ears, and looked toward the heavy oak doors of the chapel. They swung outward with a smooth, oiled click. Rebecca stepped into the sunlight, her white lace wedding gown pooling around her designer heels like sea foam. Her veil caught the breeze, framing her blonde hair and the radiant, flawless smile she wore for an audience that wasn't quite paying attention yet.
"Darling, the priest is waiting," Rebecca called out softly, her voice carrying that melodic, rehearsed warmth that had reeled me in two years ago. "Give Emily to the nanny. We can't keep everyone waiting."
