For several nights, I replayed the dinner and fed my anger with questions I could not answer. Aaron was about my age, but age alone did not make him dishonest. Still, I convinced myself that protecting Mom justified almost anything. I called her with an apology that sounded sincere even though suspicion remained underneath it.
Her relief came through the phone. She asked me to help with the wedding, and I agreed, partly because I loved her and partly because staying close would let me watch Aaron. I attended dress fittings, tasted cakes, and compared decorations. Aaron never snapped at me. He remembered Mom’s tea, listened when she spoke, and never treated her like a wallet.
My certainty slowly weakened. A few days before the ceremony, I admitted I had found no evidence against him. I told Mom that I truly accepted their relationship. She hugged me so tightly that shame pricked my conscience. I had spent weeks searching for ugliness while she had been trying to share her happiness.
On the wedding morning, Mom and I were rushing toward the venue when she realized her phone was missing. I volunteered to return to the house. I searched the kitchen, bedroom, and living room without finding it. Then I noticed a locked desk drawer sitting slightly crooked in its frame. I told myself I was only checking for the phone. When I pulled, the drawer opened—and a stack of papers slid across the floor.
