“What is it, sweetheart?”
She pointed beyond Vanessa toward the grave.
“Is that Grandpa Warren?”
The word hit the air like a gunshot.
Vanessa froze.
Several conversations nearby stopped.
A woman under the funeral tent turned toward us.
Then another.
Then Preston did.
He had been standing near the casket beside the minister, wearing a charcoal suit and black tie.
I hadn’t seen him in ten years.
For one strange second, the years disappeared.
I remembered the man who used to cook pancakes on Sunday mornings.
The man who once carried me through our front door because he said every new bride deserved it.
The man who promised me that whatever happened, we would never allow outsiders to decide what was true inside our marriage.
Then I remembered how quickly he had broken that promise.
Preston stared at me.
I watched recognition cross his face.
Then confusion.
And then his attention shifted.
Not to my uniform.
To Eli.
His expression changed.
He looked at Jordan.
Then Micah.
Then Sophie.
Then Grace.
I saw him stop breathing.
He actually took one step backward.
Vanessa noticed.
“Preston,” she called immediately.
