Before we reached the altar, my three-year-old grandson squeezed my hand and whispered, “Grandpa, she was mean to Mommy.” Then he pointed toward my future wife and pulled a USB drive from his tiny pocket—one that would soon reveal the truth she had been hiding.

Rosa called from the emergency room.

Sofia had been admitted for observation.

She had a concussion.

Bruising.

Possible sedative exposure.

Blood samples taken.

The doctor wanted toxicology.

I asked.

“Can I come?”

Rosa said.

“Yes.”

I looked at police.

Then Gabriel.

Detective Salcedo nodded.

“We have what we need for now.”

I took Lucas.

Left through a private entrance.

No ballroom.

No ceremony.

No bride.

PART 27