She was not gleeful.

She was a tired nine-year-old who had done a terrible, brave, grown-up thing, and who wanted, now, more than anything, to go home with her mom.

I squeezed her hand, and had to blink back tears of my own.

“Yes, baby,” I said.

“Let’s go home.”

Chapter 15 — I Didn’t Say a Word

I looked up, once, toward the altar.

Luca was staring at us, his eyes wide, everything he had built — the wedding, the reputation, the careful public image — collapsing around him in front of everyone who mattered to him.