A breeze lifted the hem of Isabelle’s veil. Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Claire—”

“Mrs. Morris,” Claire corrected, “for the moment.”

A hush dropped over the courtyard, the kind that follows a glass shattering. It suited Claire. Silence had been her language for a long time—silent mornings when Daniel left early, silent evenings when he came home late, silent hopes that the season would pass and the man she loved would look at her the way he used to.

She looked at the car parked behind her, lacquered and gleaming. “Do you recognize it?” she asked quietly. “The first thing we built together. Well—bought. I sold my grandmother’s ring so you could make the down payment. You said it was a seed for our future.”

She hadn’t planned to say that part, but it felt right to plant the truth where everyone could see it.