A piece of clothing must have fallen out of her overnight bag. That’s all this is. Felicity, you’re exhausted and hormonal. Don’t make a scene.”

Claire nodded frantically, tears springing to her eyes. “Yes! I brought several things over. Decorations, gifts, extra clothes. I must have dropped it when I was using the upstairs bathroom.”

Owen knelt and picked up the photograph. He didn’t look at the bed. He didn’t look at the shirt. His eyes locked entirely on the tiny blue sapphire charm dangling from the lace strap.

“Under their bed?” Owen asked, his voice deathly quiet.

“It was under the bench!” Damon snapped, his practiced composure cracking. “Don’t make it sound worse than it is, Owen. My wife is just confused.”

“I took that photograph at 10:42 on Tuesday morning,” I said, my voice slicing through the tension like a scalpel. “The exact same morning Claire told you she was meeting a florist for your wedding, Owen.