For thirty-two years, I believed a mother’s greatest duty was to make herself useful. I raised Delphine after her father, Edward, died, kept the books for our little engineering firm, paid the mortgage, and quietly saved every dollar for the future she imagined. When she announced her engagement to Preston, I smiled because she did. I even offered to pay for the wedding, though something about him never settled comfortably in me. He was charming when people watched and impatient when they did not. Still, Delphine loved him, and I refused to become the mother who mistook worry for wisdom.

Then, three weeks before the wedding, I received a strange call from the venue manager. He asked whether I had authorized Preston to change the refund instructions. I had not. He said Preston wanted the money sent directly to himself, not returned to the account that had paid the deposit. I thanked him, hung up, and stared at Edward’s old desk.

That was when I stopped trusting my instincts and started checking facts.