Chapter 5
Amanda placed herself where everyone could see her.
She stood near the bridal suite entrance in her ivory gown, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe, the other extended toward Sophie as if offering comfort. Her expression held soft concern. Her posture promised patience. Anyone glancing over would have seen a bride trying to help a frightened child before a wedding.
Sophie saw something else.
She stayed against my side, both hands locked around the white flower basket. The handle pressed into her fingers until her knuckles blanched. She kept the basket between herself and Amanda, not high enough to look defensive, but positioned with careful purpose. A small barrier. A boundary she could carry.
The hallway filled with movement. Shoes crossed polished floor. Fabric brushed against walls. Wedding arrangements waited nearby, untouched and orderly. The ceremony had not begun, but its pressure had already entered the room.
Amanda looked past me toward the people gathering outside.
Her smile widened.
Then her eyes dropped to Sophie.
The smile remained. The warmth did not.
I saw it because Sophie leaned closer at that exact moment. Amanda’s mouth stayed curved, but something tightened around it. Her gaze moved over Sophie’s hands, the basket, and the narrow space between them. Irritation flashed and disappeared before anyone else could notice.
I noticed.
A wedding attendant paused at the entrance. Amanda turned toward her, face brightening again. She made a small gesture toward Sophie, then touched her own chest as if reassuring everyone that the child was safe. No words followed. The attendant looked from Amanda to me, uncertain, then moved away when another person called for her attention.
Amanda waited until the attention shifted.
Her expression fell.
Not completely. She was too practiced for that. Concern thinned into calculation. She watched the corridor instead of Sophie, measuring who might return and who might be watching.
Sophie’s grip tightened.
I lowered myself beside her. She did not look at Amanda. She kept her shoulder against my arm and held the basket across her body.
I had spent eighteen months believing Amanda understood what Sophie had lost. I remembered patience, lowered voices, gentle gestures. I remembered wanting those memories to be true.
Now I watched Amanda rebuild her face each time someone looked over.
A wedding coordinator appeared at the far end of the corridor and motioned toward the ceremony space. Amanda answered with a polite nod. Her eyes stayed on Sophie.
The motion carried expectation. Guests were waiting. The schedule was waiting. My family, somewhere beyond the hallway, was waiting for the bride and flower girl to appear together.
Amanda stepped closer.
Sophie moved behind my knee.
The basket struck my leg with a soft wicker tap.
Amanda stopped. For one second, her concern vanished entirely. Her face showed annoyance so nakedly that I felt my stomach turn. Then footsteps sounded nearby, and the mask returned before the person entered view.
Amanda reached toward Sophie.
I shifted between them.
No accusation left my mouth. I had no witness to offer, no object except the basket, no proof beyond a frightened child and the face I had finally learned to watch.
Amanda lowered her hand.
She looked at me with patient disappointment, then turned toward the corridor and resumed her public expression. Anyone watching would have seen a bride waiting calmly for her family.
Sophie stayed beside me.
I kept one hand near her shoulder and the other around the basket’s handle, not taking it from her. The ceremony could wait. Normal behavior could wait. Whatever story Amanda had prepared for the people outside, it had not yet become truth.
A cluster of guests gathered beyond the doorway. Their attention settled on us.
Amanda smiled at them.
May you like
Over my shoulder, her smile tightened.
The people outside began moving toward the room, carrying their expectations with them. I understood then that Amanda’s reputation was not background pressure. It was another locked door, and I had no key.
