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

“Let’s go get married.”

Within moments, her car pulled away.

I watched it disappear around the corner, taking my son toward what should have been the happiest day of his life.

Instead, he was driving into a trap.

I stepped out from behind the sedan, my legs shaking.

But my resolve absolute.

“Her car,” I said quietly. “She drove them in her car.”

“She’s been using it to move between both lives.”

Frederick replied, no admiration in his tone.

“Mr. Blake never questioned why she insisted on driving herself to certain places.”

He checked his watch.

“20 minutes to the church. If you’re going to talk to Mr. Collins, do it now.”

I walked to the front door, each step heavier than the last, and knocked.

The knock echoed louder than I expected.

I stood on the front porch, heart racing.

But hands steady.

Morning sun felt too bright for what I was about to do.

Inside, footsteps approached.

The door opened.

The man looked exactly like I’d seen moments ago.

Late 30s.

Exhausted eyes.

World-weary.

Brett Collins.

He studied me with confusion and growing weariness.

“Can I help you?”

“My name is Margot Hayes.”

I kept my voice steady.

“I believe you know my son, Blake.”

Color drained from his face instantly.

His hand gripped the doorframe.

“I don’t.”

I held up my phone.

The engagement photo Blake had sent two months ago.

Blake and Natasha smiling.

Then the formal portrait from their engagement party.

Brett staggered backward.

“Oh god. She’s really doing it.”

I stepped forward.

He didn’t stop me.

The small living room was modest but clean.

Worn furniture.

Toys scattered on carpet.

In the corner, a little girl with blonde curls sat playing with a dollhouse, humming softly.

Zoe.

The innocent child caught in all this.

“Doing what?”

I faced Brett directly, channeling Bernard’s strength.

Always face the truth directly, Margot.

“Tell me everything right now.”

Brett glanced at his daughter.

She hadn’t looked up.

Then back to me.

His eyes hollow with defeat and fear.

“She’s my wife.”

His voice cracked.

“Legally, we’ve been married for four years.”

The words hit hard even though I’d known.

Hearing it confirmed—four years—made it real.

Blake had only known her for two.

“And today,” I said quietly, voice trembling despite control, “she’s marrying my son.”

Brett nodded miserably.

“She said marrying into your family would solve everything.”

“Solve what?”

“The debts. The threats.”

The story spilled out.