“We are in the middle of a private family sacrament,” Margaret’s cold voice cut through the air.

She stepped down from the front pew, her pearls catching the dim light of the altar candles.

“Mr. Whitmore,” the bishop said, his hand resting on the heavy Bible.

“I must ask you all to take this discussion outside of the sanctuary.”

“One minute, Bishop,” Adrian said, his eyes never leaving mine.

“My ex-wife is simply having a difficult time letting go.”

The lie was so casual, so practiced, it almost made me smile.

“I let go of you the moment I realized who you truly were,” I said.

“But I will never let go of what belongs to my daughter.”

Celeste marched down the steps now, her face pale beneath her heavy makeup.

She grabbed Adrian’s arm, her manicured nails digging into his dark suit sleeve.

“Adrian, tell the security guards to throw her out,” she hissed.

“She has no right to be here. This is our day.”

“Celeste, be quiet,” Margaret snapped.

The younger woman froze, her mouth slightly open in shock.

Margaret walked toward us, her posture rigid.