Jennifer’s family filled three rows behind them.
And scattered throughout the audience were people who’d known Samantha—colleagues from the hospital where she’d worked as a pediatric nurse, friends from college, people who’d watched Andrew move on with shocking speed and swallowed their discomfort, because what could they say?
Madison stood to the side in a lavender bridesmaid dress, holding a bouquet of peonies.
She watched her father take Jennifer’s hands, watched them exchange the vows they’d written.
“Sixteen years ago, you saved me,” Andrew said, voice thick with emotion. “I was drowning in grief, and you taught me how to breathe again. You gave Madison a mother. You gave me a future. You turned our tragedy into something beautiful.”
Jennifer was crying.
“You and Madison are my whole world. Being your wife—being her mom—is the greatest honor of my life. I promise to love you both forever.”
The officiant pronounced them still married.
Everyone applauded.
They kissed.
And Madison smiled and clapped along with everyone else, the USB drive burning like hot coal in her clutch purse.
The reception was in the hotel ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers. Tables set with gold chargers. Centerpieces of white orchids.
A band played soft jazz while guests drank champagne and ate appetizers that cost more per bite than some people’s weekly groceries.
Madison barely touched her food.
She was watching. Waiting.
Andrew’s best man gave a toast about friendship and second chances.
Jennifer’s sister gave a toast about true love finding you when you least expect it.
And then the bandleader announced, “We have one more speech. Madison Mitchell would like to say a few words about her parents.”
Madison stood.
