I sat beside her.
“Start from the beginning.”
She pressed both hands over her face.
For almost a minute she said nothing.
Then the truth came out.
The reception had ended shortly after midnight.
I had left around eleven because Sophie insisted she and Jake wanted a little time alone before their early morning flight.
They were supposed to leave for Italy at eight.
Rome first.
Then Florence.
Then ten days along the Amalfi Coast.
I had watched my daughter dance beneath crystal chandeliers with the man she believed she would spend the rest of her life with.
Jake Whitmore had looked perfect.
Handsome.
Attentive.
Protective.
During their first dance, he had whispered something into Sophie's ear that made her laugh.
I remembered thinking, Maybe she really did find the good one.
That memory would haunt me for years.
Sophie told me that after the final guests left, Jake walked her upstairs to the bridal suite.
