Chapter 1
The woman in the burnt-orange gown ripped my mother's name from the wedding table as though it were a piece of garbage.
"Don't touch my mom's seat!"
I grabbed Diane's wrist before she could walk away.
For one second, the entire wedding reception seemed to stop breathing.
Crystal glasses glittered beneath the golden evening sunlight.
White roses covered the tables.
A string quartet played near the garden fountain.
And I stood there, thirteen years old, trying to protect a white-and-gold place card with one word written across it.
Mama.
My name is Ava Bennett.
That afternoon, my father was supposed to marry a woman named Lauren.
I was supposed to be happy.
I had even helped choose the flowers.
But I had made my father promise one thing.
At the reception, there would be an empty chair beside mine for my mother.
Not because I believed she would walk through the garden gates.
Not because I couldn't understand that she had died.
But because I wanted to feel that she was still part of my life.
My mother, Naomi Bennett, had died three years earlier.
I was ten.
And there were mornings when I still reached for my phone, forgetting I couldn't call her.
Diane, Lauren's mother, hated the empty chair from the moment she saw it.
She'd complained during the rehearsal.
She'd called it depressing.
She'd told the wedding planner it would make guests uncomfortable.
But my father refused to remove it.
He told me that my mother's memory deserved respect.
And I believed him.
Until Diane reached across our reception table and snatched the card away.
"Give it back!" I cried.
She twisted her wrist free.
Her perfectly styled hair didn't move.
Neither did the cold expression on her face.
"She isn't coming, Ava. Let it go."
The words hit me so hard that I forgot the guests watching us.
I stared at her.
"I know she's not coming."
My voice cracked.
"Dad promised her place would stay."
Diane sighed loudly.
"Sweetheart, today isn't about your mother."
I felt tears gathering.
"Then why are you touching her things?"
"Because this is a wedding, not a memorial service."
A woman at the next table gasped.
Diane ignored her.
She folded the place card between her fingers.
My stomach tightened.
"Please don't bend it."
She looked down at me.
"You're too old for this behavior."
Then I heard my father's voice.
"Diane."
He was standing directly behind me.
Marcus Bennett.
Forty-two years old.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Wearing a black wedding suit and an open-collar white shirt.
I'd seen my father furious before.
When a driver nearly hit me at a crosswalk.
When someone broke into his construction office.
But I'd never seen his face turn so cold.
"Give me that card."
Diane straightened.
"Marcus, I'm simply trying to keep things appropriate."
"My daughter asked you not to touch it."
"She's being emotional."
"Give it back."
Diane handed him the folded card.
Dad carefully smoothed the edges.
Then he placed it upright on the table.
Exactly where I'd left it.
Beside my empty chair.
He adjusted the little gold ribbon.
Then turned toward me.
"Is that where you wanted it, baby?"
I nodded.
My throat hurt too much to speak.
He squeezed my shoulder.
"Then that's where it stays."
Diane threw up her hands.
"This is unbelievable."
Dad faced her.
"What's unbelievable?"
"You're allowing a memory to control this family!"
My father pulled the empty gold chair back into position.
"No."
His voice was steady.
"I'm teaching my daughter that love doesn't disappear because someone does."
A few guests lowered their eyes.
Others began whispering.
Diane's face reddened.
She stepped closer.
"You cannot keep making decisions based on a woman who's been dead for three years."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Don't speak about Naomi that way."
Diane pointed toward the bridal table.
"Lauren is your future."
"I know who Lauren is."
"Then act like it!"
I pressed my lips together.
I didn't want Dad's wedding ruined.
I didn't want Lauren embarrassed.
I only wanted one chair.
One small reminder of the woman who used to braid my hair before school.
Diane leaned closer.
"Then choose, Marcus."
The music seemed impossibly distant.
"Her memory or the family standing here now."
My father placed his hand firmly on my shoulder.
"I choose my daughter."
He didn't hesitate.
"Every time."
The reception fell silent.
Diane stared at him.
For the first time, she seemed uncertain.
Then Dad looked toward the surrounding guests.
"And since Diane brought up Ava's mother..."
Something changed in his voice.
It wasn't anger anymore.
It was the sound of someone making a decision he'd avoided for too long.
"Maybe everyone should know why she really wanted this seat removed."
Diane went pale.
"Marcus, don't."
I turned toward him.
"Dad?"
He didn't look at me.
He was staring at Diane.
She stepped backward.
"You promised we wouldn't discuss that today."
My heart began pounding.
Discuss what?
What could Diane possibly know about my mother?
Dad reached inside his suit jacket.
I saw the edge of a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Ava.
I had never seen it before.
"Dad," I whispered, "what do you mean?"
His hand stopped inside his jacket.
Diane reached toward him.
"Marcus, please."
My father looked down at me.
His eyes were filled with pain.
And suddenly I understood something terrifying.
The empty chair wasn't the real reason Diane was angry.
There was a secret connected to my mother.
May you like
A secret my father had been carrying into his wedding day.
And the woman who wanted Mama's chair removed knew exactly what it was.
