On her ring finger, catching the gray morning light, was my grandmother’s emerald ring.

In Graham’s other hand was a document bearing a bright red court clerk’s stamp.

Before I could draw breath to speak, the heavy oak doors at the back of Grace Harbor Chapel groaned on their iron hinges.

A gust of damp wind swept down the center aisle, bringing with it the smell of salt spray and expensive men’s cologne.

Footsteps echoed sharply against the stone floor.

I turned to see Graham walking toward us, his coat unbuttoned and his eyes fixed on the altar.

He stopped just past the front pew, folding his hands over his belt.

“You always did like the quiet of this place, Evelyn,” Graham said.

His voice was smooth, completely devoid of the tension that had been building between us for weeks.

“Get out, Graham,” Julian said, stepping forward to shield me.

Graham laughed, a short, dry sound that echoed in the high rafters of the chapel.

“I don’t think I will, Julian,” Graham said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his inner pocket.