After losing my wife, I never imagined I’d trust another woman with my heart, let alone my daughters’. Just weeks before the wedding, I discovered how badly that trust had been misplaced.
I stood at the head of a long table with a champagne glass in one hand and the projector remote hidden in the other. Sixty guests gaped up at me. My fiancée, Claire, stood beside me with her mouth hanging open. She was in a red dress, my ring flashing under the chandelier every time she moved her hand for effect.
Sixty guests gaped up at me.
In the front row sat her mother, Isla, giving me a knowing little tilt of the head, as if she couldn’t believe what I was doing.
She just didn’t know that there was more.
My daughters were safe at their Uncle Marcus’s for the night. That was the only part of that evening I’d planned for their sake.
