The officiant was mid-sentence when Helen saw him. A man she didn’t know had slipped into the front row and settled himself into the one seat that was supposed to stay empty—the chair dressed in white ribbon and white roses, with Daniel’s photograph propped against the back. Helen’s breath caught in her throat.
She kept her eyes on him while the officiant kept talking. The man was somewhere in his mid-thirties, dark-haired, wearing a suit that didn’t quite fit him. He held something pressed against his chest with both hands, and he was staring at Daniel’s photograph with an expression that had no business being at a wedding.
Richard was standing right beside her at the altar. She felt him follow her gaze. And that was the moment everything shifted, because Richard’s face reflected an unnamable expression. It was something watchful, like a man who had set a fire and was now waiting to see how it burned. The ceremony continued as though nothing had changed.