The Night I Took Our Daughter Away Chapter 04
The chapel filled with white roses. The glass conservatory was set for dinner. Fireworks were scheduled over the lake. Luca recreated almost every detail I had once wanted when I was young enough to believe a wedding could prove a man remembered you.
Everyone said he had finally come to his senses. The old wives from allied families called it romantic. The captains called it smart. A happy wife made a stable house, and a stable house made Luca look steady again.
Only I knew the divorce was moving toward its final date at the same pace.
I signed off on menus, flowers, seating charts, and security details with the same calm hand I used to pack Mia’s things at night. Luca mistook my cooperation for hope. In truth, every approval was just one more door closing behind me.
Three days before the ceremony, Vivienne had another breakdown. Someone had mailed an old article about the harbor shooting to the lake house, and she collapsed so badly that Luca spent the night there.
He came back at dawn, pale and tired. “Until the wedding, stay in the east guest house. This isn’t a punishment. I just don’t want more stress around Vivienne. Once the ceremony is over, everything will settle.”
I looked at him. “You think I sent that clipping?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know.”
That was answer enough.
The east guest house sat only a few hundred yards from the main residence, but two extra guards appeared outside the door. Luca called it protection. When I tried to leave, they politely blocked the path and said Mr. Moretti preferred I rest until the wedding.
A velvet cage was still a cage.
The old me might have shouted until the house shook. The woman I had become only checked that our passports were still hidden in the drawer. I no longer needed to be believed by a man who doubted me whenever doubt made his life easier.
The night before the wedding, Mia slipped in through the back entrance with her stuffed rabbit under one arm. After I dried her hair, she sat on the bed and asked, “Mommy, if you marry Daddy again, do we still have to live here?”
“Do you want to?”
She shook her head. “I went to the chapel today. The florist said Daddy is giving you a big wedding because everyone knows he treats Aunt Vivienne better. The maid said you stayed too long, so he has to make it look nice.”
The words did not cut. They landed somewhere already hollow.
Mia climbed into my lap and wiped my cheek with her small hand. “Don’t cry. I love you. I’ll stay with you.”
At four in the morning, I changed out of the silk robe meant for the bridal suite and put on jeans, boots, and a trench coat. Mia shouldered her little backpack with two picture books, her rabbit, and her favorite hair clip inside.
She had memorized the back lock code by watching security. I had prepared everything else: a prepaid phone, cash withdrawn in small amounts, a rental car under an old client’s name, copies of Mia’s documents, and a route no one in the Moretti family knew.
I did not need revenge. I needed an exit that would hold.
Before sunrise, Mia and I were on a flight from O’Hare to Vancouver. As Chicago shrank beneath the clouds, she pressed her face to the window and asked, “Do we still have to wait for Daddy after this?”
“No,” I said.
She leaned against me and fell asleep before the seatbelt sign went off. For the first time in years, I did not check my phone every few minutes. There was no apology I needed to hear, no explanation I needed to give, no last-minute promise I needed to believe.
At that same hour, Luca stood at the end of the aisle in the private chapel, dressed in black, surrounded by captains, allies, and old-money wives with careful smiles. To them, the wedding meant the Moretti household was steady again. To Luca, it was the start of a repair.
Then the bridal suite stayed closed.
The quartet repeated the same song until the family attorney stepped in with a sealed document.
“Mr. Moretti,” he said, “Mrs. Moretti confirmed the final filing through counsel this morning. Your divorce is finalized.”
