But before that moment, before that question was even uttered, there was the party. The biggest, loudest, most lavish celebration our city had ever seen. The Grand Magnolia Ballroom buzzed like a disturbed hive. Crystal chandeliers bathed everything in a warm, golden glow, and servers glided silently between tables, delivering champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

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.