I, Nia Hayes, sat at the main table in my flawless white gown, feeling like an exhibit in a museum. I smiled, nodded, and accepted congratulations, but a dull, inexplicable dread was building inside me. My husband, Darius Vance, was magnificent. Tall, charming, the life of the party, he moved easily from table to table, his infectious laugh echoing across the floor. He was the ideal son-in-law for my father, Elijah Hayes, and the perfect husband for me, the reliable, serious, elder daughter who had spent her entire life doing exactly what was expected of her.