Part 1
An hour before my wedding, I stood barefoot in the bridal suite at St. Andrew’s Chapel, one hand pressed against my small back and the other resting on my swollen belly, trying to breathe despite the sharp pain that came and went. Seven months pregnant, every movement felt heavier, slower, more fragile. My maid of honor, Emily, had gone downstairs to check the flowers, and my mother was in the reception hall making sure the place cards were in place. For the first time all morning, I was alone.
I thought I heard Ethan’s voice in the hallway.
At first, I smiled. I wasn’t supposed to see him before the ceremony, but he always laughed at those traditions. I figured he was nervous, maybe wanting to talk to me for a moment, maybe wanting to tell me I looked beautiful before it all started. I walked toward the door, ready to tease him for breaking tradition.
Then I heard another voice. A man’s voice. Probably Connor, his godfather.
Ethan burst out laughing and said, “After today, it won’t matter anymore.”
Something in his tone chilled me to the bone.
Connor said, “Are you really going to do it?”
Ethan sighed, as if he were tired of being questioned. “What other choice do I have? Her father already paid half the apartment deposit. And when the baby’s born, she’ll be too busy asking questions.”
I felt a tightness in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
Connor lowered his voice, but not enough. “And Vanessa?”
