Chapter 6: The Ceremony She Almost Took From Me
I walked down the aisle twenty-three minutes late, in an ivory dress, holding white roses.
My father walked beside me.
He hadn't spoken since the room.
But when I came out of the bridal suite in the backup dress and stopped in the hallway, he looked at me for a long moment.
Then he held out his arm.
I took it.
Vanessa was seated in the third row on the family side.
She'd had no choice — leaving would have made a scene, and Vanessa had always understood optics even when she understood nothing else.
She was sitting with her ankles crossed and her hands folded and her face perfectly arranged into an expression of pleasant attention.
She watched me come down the aisle.
I didn't look at her.
I looked at the man waiting for me at the end of it.
His name was Thomas.
We'd been together for four years.
He knew about Vanessa.
He knew about the prom dress and Daniel and the engagement photos.
He knew about the folder and the camera and the eight months of documentation, because I had told him everything, every step of the way, and he had never once told me I was overreacting.
When I reached him, he looked at the ivory dress for just a second.
"You look incredible," he said quietly.
"Which dress is this?"
"Plan B," I said.
He smiled.
"How many plans did you have?"
"Three."
He laughed — a real one, short and surprised — and took my hands, and the officiant cleared her throat gently, and we turned to face her.
The ceremony was twenty-two minutes.
I remember almost all of it.
Thomas's hands, warm and steady.
The way he said *I do* without hesitating, without the small dramatic pause some men use to seem thoughtful.
Direct.
Certain.
Like a door closing on everything that had come before.
When he kissed me, there was a sound from the guests — a real one, genuine, the kind that rises without being asked.
I heard my mother crying.
Not the polite kind.
The real kind.
I didn't turn to look.
We walked back up the aisle together, and when we passed the third row, I felt Vanessa's gaze on the side of my face like pressure.
I kept my eyes forward.
Thomas's hand was in mine.
At the reception, two things happened before the first toast.
The first: Detective Reyes appeared at the venue entrance and spoke briefly with a uniformed officer who had arrived while we were in the ceremony.
I watched this from across the room.
Thomas watched it with me.
He didn't ask.
He already knew.
The second: Dana came to find me at the head table.
She leaned down and spoke quietly near my ear.
"Vanessa's trying to leave," she said.
I looked across the room.
Vanessa was near the side exit, bag over her shoulder, speaking in low tones to my mother, who was gripping her arm.
"Let her go to the door," I said.
Dana's eyes widened slightly.
"Claire—"
"Let her get all the way to the door."
Dana straightened up and stepped back.
I watched.
Vanessa reached the side exit.
She pushed the bar.
The door opened.
Detective Reyes was standing on the other side of it.
She stopped.
He said something to her.
Short.
Quiet.
I couldn't hear it from where I sat.
Vanessa's bag slipped off her shoulder.
The uniformed officer stepped forward and caught it.
Thomas put his hand over mine on the table.
"Okay?" he said.
I watched Vanessa turn and look back across the reception hall.
Through all the tables and the flowers and the guests who had no idea what was happening near the door, she found my face.
I held her gaze for exactly three seconds.
Then I turned to my husband and picked up my glass.
May you like
"Yes," I said.
"I'm okay."
