ON MY SON’S WEDDING MORNING, OUR FAMILY DRIVER PUSHED ME INTO THE TRUNK AND THREW A BLANKET OVER …

Brett stood on the porch, folder pressed against his chest, watching us leave.

A desperate father trying to make things right.

We were running out of time.

Twenty minutes later, I walked into my own home like nothing had happened because Blake couldn’t know.

Not yet.

The moment I stepped through the door, I heard their voices.

Blake and Tyler in the living room, laughing about something.

Normal.

Happy.

The way a groom and his best man should sound on a wedding day.

My heart was breaking.

But my face remained calm.

“Mom,” Blake’s voice called out, relieved and worried at once. “Where have you been? You were gone so long. Are you okay?”

I forced a bright smile.

The kind Bernard always said could light up a room.

“Just getting some fresh air, sweetheart. Needed to clear my head. Big day, you know.”

Blake stood in front of the fireplace, fumbling with his tie, looking every bit the nervous groom.

Tyler sat on the couch, already dressed in his groomsman suit, grinning.

“I get it,” Blake said, laughing anxiously. “I’m freaking out over here.”

Tyler laughed.

“Dude, you’re sweating like you’re running a marathon. Relax.”

Blake turned to me, his hands still struggling with the tie.

His eyes—Bernard’s eyes—searched mine.

“Mom, do you think Natasha’s happy? Really happy with me?”

My heart shattered.

But I kept my voice steady.

“Sweetheart, what matters is whether you’re happy.”

Blake’s face softened into something so genuine it hurt to witness.

“I am. She’s everything I ever wanted. Smart, beautiful, kind.”

He paused, emotion catching in his throat.

“After Dad died, I thought I’d never feel whole again. But Natasha makes me feel like I can breathe.”

I had to look away.

Had to blink back tears.

My eyes landed on Bernard’s photograph on the mantle.

His warm smile.

The way he’d looked at our wedding 30 years ago.

I wish you were here, Bernard.

You’d know exactly what to say to him.

Tyler, oblivious to my internal collapse, clapped Blake on the shoulder.

“Man, you’re glowing like a Christmas tree. She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Blake said quietly.

Then to me:

“Dad would have been happy for me, right?”

My voice came out rougher than intended.

“Your father would be so proud of you, son. So proud.”

Tyler’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at it.

“Hey, we need to head out soon. Church in an hour, right?”

Blake straightened, trying to compose himself.

“Mom, do I look okay?”

I walked over, adjusted his tie with trembling fingers.

The same way Bernard used to before important meetings.

“You look perfect, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He kissed my forehead.

“For everything. For being strong after Dad. For accepting Natasha. For being you.”

I couldn’t speak.

Just nodded.

“I need to go get ready,” I managed. “You two finish up.”

I walked to my bedroom, closed the door, and leaned against it.

For ten seconds, I let myself feel the weight of what I was about to do.

The knowledge that in less than three hours, I would walk into that church and destroy my son’s happiness to save him from something worse.

I sat on the bed.

The manila folder Brett had given me was still in my purse.