Chapter 3: The Empty Hallway
I didn't hand Emily to Sarah the nanny. Instead, I picked my daughter up, her small arms wrapping fiercely around my neck, burying her face into my shoulder where the white flower boutonniere was pinned. I walked past Rebecca without another word, ignoring the sharp intake of breath behind me, and carried Emily through the side entrance of the chapel, away from the murmur of the gathering crowd.
Inside, the dim hallway smelled of polished mahogany and old hymnals. The coolness hit my skin, a stark contrast to the humid garden outside. I set Emily down on a velvet bench near the vestry and knelt beside her, keeping my hands on her small shoulders.
"Emily, look at me," I said gently.
She blinked, her tear-stained face looking heartbreakingly small under the heavy flower crown.
"Did Sarah give you this note, or did Rebecca?"
Emily swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "Miss Rebecca gave it to me this morning while you were at the florist. She... she packed my pink suitcase, Daddy. She put it in the back of Sarah’s car. She said when you and her came back from the honeymoon, I’d be living at boarding school upstate. She said if I told you, she wouldn't let you come to my birthday."
The air left my lungs. Boarding school. A seven-year-old child, enrolled behind my back, her room emptied while I was out arranging table settings. The public narrative of our blended family—the successful businessman, the radiant philanthropist bride, the happy little girl—was a painted backdrop. And behind it, termite-eaten wood.
The heavy vestry door creaked open. Sarah, the nanny we’d hired six months ago at Rebecca’s insistence, stepped into the hallway. Her uniform was crisp, her expression tight and professional, but her eyes darted nervously toward the exit.
"Mr. Reynolds," Sarah said, her voice clipped. "Mrs. Reynolds is asking for you. The guests are murmuring. If the ceremony doesn't start in ten minutes—"
"Sarah," I interrupted, standing up slowly. I was taller than her by half a foot, and as I stepped forward, she instinctively took a half-step back. "Where is Emily's pink suitcase?"
Sarah’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her professional facade cracked, revealing the terrified twenty-four-year-old underneath.
"I... Mrs. Reynolds told me to take it to the lodge," Sarah whispered, her eyes filling with sympathetic panic. "She said you agreed to it. She said it was part of the transition plan."
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"I never agreed to anything of the kind," I said quietly. I pulled my phone from my inner pocket, bypassing the wedding coordinator's missed calls, and opened the home security app. The live feed of our estate hallway loaded with a spinning circle. "Sarah. Did you see what was in this note?"
Sarah shook her head rapidly. "No. I swear, Mr. Reynolds. I just... I just do what I'm told on the schedule. She pays the extra stipend."
