For one insane second, I thought he might ask me to save him.
He didn’t.
Maybe he saw my face.
Maybe he finally understood there was no daughter left who would light herself on fire to keep him warm.
Valerie fought when they cuffed her.
Not dramatically.
Desperately.
“My dress,” she sobbed as one officer pulled her hands behind her. “You’re ruining my dress!”
Grandma said, “No, dear. You did that.”
Valerie’s eyes found mine.
“This is your fault.”
I looked at her in her white gown, surrounded by orchids paid for with my mother’s money, handcuffed beneath a flower arch.
“No,” I said. “This is your wedding gift.”
Dad passed me as Marsh guided him down the aisle.
He stopped.
“Chloe.”
I held Mom’s sapphire ring in my palm.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
“I’m sorry.”
For once, he didn’t add anything.
No excuse.
No grief.
No “too young.”
Just sorry.
I believed he meant it.
That didn’t change anything.
“I know,” I said.
He nodded like it hurt.
Then he kept walking.
The guests watched them leave.
The champagne wall glittered uselessly in the sun.
The string quartet sat silent.
Grandma took my hand.
Lily stood on my other side.
None of us knew what to say.