But that night, at my own brother’s wedding reception, amidst the clinking of champagne glasses and the soft swell of a jazz band, I failed to protect the one child who matters most to me.

I looked at the bride, Waverly, standing in the center of the room. She was laughing, throwing her head back, her white lace gown catching the twinkle lights strung from the rafters. She looked perfect. Angelic.