Chapter 6
I kept the flower basket in Sophie’s hands.
The white handle had left a red mark across her fingers. She noticed me looking and tightened her grip before I could reach for it. I stopped with my hand halfway between us. The basket stayed where it was, pressed against her dress like a shield.
Amanda stood near the bridal-suite door in her ivory gown. Her face had settled into concern again, soft and careful. Behind that expression, I watched her measure the room: Sophie against the wall, me kneeling in front of her, the locked door, the basket.
A wedding coordinator appeared in the doorway, then stopped when she saw us. She carried a clipboard and wore the strained smile of someone waiting for a problem to become smaller. Amanda turned toward her first. Sophie flinched at the movement.
That was the first detail I wrote down.
Not that Sophie cried. She did not. Not that she spoke. She did not. Her body moved before her face did. Amanda shifted one step, and Sophie pulled the basket higher. Amanda stopped, and Sophie’s shoulders lowered by a fraction.
I took the folded program from a side table and used its blank back as paper. I wrote the time at the top. Then I wrote what I had seen.
Amanda noticed.
Her attention dropped to the paper, then returned to my face. The concern in her expression grew more polished. She touched the skirt of her gown and glanced at the basket as if it were evidence of something embarrassing but harmless.
The coordinator looked from the paper to Amanda. No one spoke.
Sophie’s breathing had steadied while Amanda remained near the door. When Amanda crossed the room toward the vanity, Sophie’s breath caught. The basket shifted against her ribs. A few white petals fell through the gaps and landed on the floor.
Amanda stopped beside the mirror.
Sophie relaxed again.
I added those details beneath the first line. Amanda moved. Sophie reacted. Amanda stopped. Sophie recovered.
The pattern was small enough to dismiss. That made it dangerous.
Amanda pointed toward the basket. Her mouth moved, but no words came. I did not fill the silence for her. I watched the coordinator’s expression change instead. Amanda was giving her a version of the morning without speaking it aloud: the child was overwhelmed, the father was overreacting, the basket was part of the problem.
The coordinator gathered the fallen petals and placed them on the vanity.
I moved closer to Sophie, but not close enough to trap her. I held out my palm. She looked at it, then at the basket. When I lowered my hand, she kept holding it. That choice mattered more than anything I could have asked her.
A knock sounded from the hall.
Amanda straightened. Her concern vanished for less than a second before returning in a cleaner shape. She glanced at the door lock. Sophie saw it too. Her fingers whitened around the handle.
The coordinator opened the door halfway. Beyond it, wedding guests moved through the corridor in dark suits and bright dresses. Their voices stayed outside the room, blurred by distance and the heavy door.
I rose and placed myself between Amanda and Sophie.
Amanda’s face tightened. The false softness remained, but the effort showed now. She looked past me toward the hallway, where the ceremony was supposed to begin soon. The schedule on the coordinator’s clipboard had already been marked through with a pen.
The ceremony would not begin.
That consequence entered the room without anyone announcing it. Amanda’s wedding day had acquired a delay, then a reason nobody could explain without choosing a side.
I folded my notes and kept them in my jacket pocket. I did not accuse Amanda. I did not ask Sophie to repeat what she had said. I watched Amanda look at the basket, then at the door, then at the guests waiting outside.
May you like
Sophie stayed behind me.
The door remained open, but nobody crossed its threshold.
