Chapter 2
Amanda’s fingers reached behind her without hurry.
I saw them brush the brass lock while Sophie clung to my suit, her face buried against my chest. The gesture looked small enough to dismiss. That made it worse. She was not trying to leave. She was trying to control who could enter.
I shifted before the latch moved. One knee stayed on the carpet. My shoulder turned, placing my body between Amanda and the door, while one arm held Sophie against me.
Amanda’s hand stopped.
Her expression remained soft, almost wounded. The concern she had arranged for me still covered her face, but her eyes had sharpened. They flicked toward my shoulder, then toward Sophie’s white dress.
Sophie did not look at her.
The flower basket pressed between us. Its handle had left red marks across Sophie’s small fingers. White petals had fallen onto the carpet, crushed beneath one satin shoe. She still held the basket with both hands, knuckles pale, as if loosening her grip would expose her to something worse.
A breakdown did not leave a child guarding a basket like a shield.
I reached toward the lock without taking my eyes from Amanda. My fingertips found the latch. It had not turned yet.
Amanda lowered her hand.
“Daniel, she’s confused. You’re really going to believe this?”
Her voice carried the same gentle patience I had trusted for eighteen months. It belonged to the woman who had seemed careful with Sophie’s grief after her mother died. It did not belong to the hand that had been closing the room around us.
I kept the latch open.
Sophie’s breathing came fast against my shirt. Each breath trembled through her shoulders. I waited for her to lift her head, but she stayed hidden. Her blonde hair brushed my jaw. The white ribbon near her temple had come loose.
Amanda took one step closer.
I stood.
Sophie’s arms tightened around my waist. The movement pulled the basket against my leg. Its wire rim bent slightly under the pressure.
Amanda stopped several feet away. She looked toward the open doorway, then back at me. Beyond it, the wedding waited in fragments: muted footsteps, fabric brushing past the hall, distant movement from people who expected the next part of the day to begin.
The schedule had governed every hour that morning. Photographs. Flowers. Music. Guests seated and waiting.
None of it mattered while Sophie remained pressed against me.
Amanda lifted both hands, palms visible. Concern returned to every line of her face. She glanced down at Sophie as though hoping to catch her eye.
Sophie turned her face farther into my jacket.
Amanda’s mouth tightened for less than a second.
I noticed.
The room became quiet except for Sophie’s breathing and the faint hum of the building’s ventilation. Amanda stood near the lock, but she no longer touched it. Keeping the door open had taken the private advantage from her. Anyone passing could see us. Anyone could see Sophie refusing to separate from me.
A shadow crossed the hallway.
Someone stopped outside.
The door remained open. No one spoke. The interruption lasted only a moment, but Amanda’s attention snapped toward it. Her shoulders straightened. Her concern became brighter, more visible, prepared for an audience.
I felt Sophie’s fingers close harder around the basket.
I lowered my face near her hair.
“Daddy, ask her what she said about Mommy.”
The words came thin and shaking. Then Sophie went silent again.
May you like
Amanda’s mask held.
I looked at the open hall, the waiting wedding, and the lock beneath my hand. I kept my body between Amanda and my daughter while footsteps began moving back toward us.
