Andrew and Gemma had not fallen into each other’s arms in a lobby while waiting for a bride who never came.

They had planned this — meticulously, for weeks — and my late arrival had simply been the convenient cover story, the socially acceptable reason they could give the guests, so that the truth would stay buried under my apparent failure.

There was even a bank transfer from Brenda, covering the fee to expedite the new license.

His mother had helped.

I photographed every page, my hands steady now in a way they had not been at the venue, because grief was turning, in real time, into something colder and clearer.

Chapter 10 — Four Months