​A young woman moved with a fluid grace and enveloped Austin in a long, familiar hug. As Amelia drew near, she heard the easy, intimate flow of their conversation. ​“When did you come?” Austin asked, his voice softer than she had heard it all day. ​“Just an hour ago,” the woman replied, pulling back a faint, possessive smile on her lips. ​“Where is he?” Austin was already looking past her, his eyes scanning the cavernous, brightly lit entrance hall visible through the open front door. ​“He is playing.” She turned, a warm, indulgent look on her face, and called out, “Ethan…come here darling.” ​ Amelia stopped a polite distance behind them, waiting for Austin to acknowledge her presence, to introduce his wife of six hours. A moment later, a little boy, no older than five, with the woman’s exact dark hair, came tearing out of the house. “Mom…” he cried happily, but skidded to a stop the moment he saw Austin. His expression changed, his eyes widening with pure delight. ​“Daddy!” The word was a joyous shout, and the little boy launched himself, arms outstretched, into Austin’s strong embrace. ​The world seemed to tilt and spin on its axis. Amelia’s breath hitched in her throat, a sickening realization blooming in her chest like a poisonous flower. ​“Mom? Dad?” The words were a fragile, whispered question, almost lost in the grand silence of the night. Amelia’s eyes, wide and disbelieving, darted from the happy, comfortable tableau of father and son to the woman, who was now smiling at Austin with the distinct, undeniable warmth of a wife. ​Austin had a wife and son? What the hell! The rushed wedding, the distant drive, the coldness, the refusal to look her in the eye—it all clicked into place, a horrifying mosaic. She wasn't a bride; she was a terrible mistake, or worse, a calculated transaction.