Chapter 4: The Digital Archive
The security app refreshed, displaying the crisp, wide-angle view of our second-floor hallway at home. I pressed my thumb against the screen, swiping backward through the recorded history of the morning.
There was Rebecca, moving through the corridor at 8:15 AM while I was downstairs drinking coffee. She wasn't wearing her bridal gown yet—just a silk robe. She carried a large black trash bag and Emily's pink suitcase. She walked directly into Emily’s bedroom. Ten minutes later, she emerged carrying the suitcase down toward the service exit where Sarah’s car was parked.
I handed the phone to Sarah. She stared at the screen, her hand trembling as the digital timestamp proved every word Emily had said.
"She told me... she told me the child was just going to stay with relatives for the summer," Sarah whispered, her voice cracking. "She made me sign a non-disclosure rider last week. She said it was standard for high-profile weddings."
"It's not standard," I said. My heart wasn't racing anymore; it had settled into a slow, heavy, rhythmic thud. Every instinct I possessed as a father was overriding the social conditioning that told me to smile, to smooth things over, to keep the appearance intact for the cameras waiting outside.
I picked Emily up again, resting her head against my chest. "Sarah, go out to the garden. Tell the guests that the wedding is postponed due to a family medical emergency. Do not mention Rebecca. Do not mention the bride. Just tell them to go home."
"Mr. Reynolds—Mrs. Reynolds will—"
"Let her," I said.
I walked past them, out through the vestry doors and toward the parking lot where my car sat parked near the perimeter hedge. The afternoon sun was still bright, hitting the chrome of the luxury sedans belonging to our guests. Through the gap in the boxwood hedge, I could see the edge of the floral arch. Rebecca was still standing by the altar now, alone, scanning the empty aisle with a look of mounting, controlled fury. Her perfect white lace veil fluttered slightly in the breeze. She looked like a statue carved out of ice and vanity.
I loaded Emily into the back seat of my car, buckling her seatbelt and handing her my phone so she could watch her favorite animation with the sound off. Then I walked back toward the main entrance of the venue, my footsteps crunching on the gravel.
May you like
Rebecca was marching down the stone path toward the chapel doors, her veil trailing behind her like a white ghost. When she saw me step out from the shadow of the portico, she stopped. Her expression of regal grace vanished, replaced by a look of venomous calculation.
"Mark," she hissed, her voice sharp as glass. "What in God's name are you playing at? The senator is out there. The press pool from the society gazette is by the gate."
