He hit his knees in the middle of the ballroom floor in his thousand-dollar tuxedo, surrounded by two hundred witnesses.
And he screamed.
Actually screamed.
The sound that came out of him was animal. Raw.
“I killed her!”
His voice echoed off the chandeliers.
“I killed the only woman who ever loved me. I killed her and I knew it. And I did nothing.”
“And—oh God. Oh God… Samantha. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He was sobbing now, choking on it.
His mother rushed to him, but he pushed her away.
Jennifer reached for him and he recoiled like she’d burned him.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.”
Madison stood at the doorway, watching her father fall apart.
She waited for the satisfaction, the victory, the sweet taste of revenge.
But all she felt was tired.
She looked at her grandparents.
They were standing now.
Linda held out her arms, and Madison walked past her broken father, past his sobbing wife, past two hundred horrified guests—
straight into her grandmother’s embrace.
“Take me home,” she whispered. “Take me to Montana. Tell me about my mom.”
“The real stories, not the lies.”
Linda held her granddaughter for the first time in sixteen years and nodded through her tears.
“Every story, baby girl. Every single one.”
