Inside my jacket was a folded document from my attorney.

By Monday morning, Richard Whitmore would learn exactly what that word meant.

After dinner, Chase grew bolder.

Maybe it was the champagne.

Maybe every laugh encouraged him.

He took the microphone again.

“I want to thank everyone who helped pay for this incredible wedding,” he said. “Especially my parents, because apparently some people believe emotional support counts as a financial contribution.”

Several guests looked toward me.

Richard clapped.

Patricia laughed into her wine.

Emily stood.

“Chase, stop.”

He shrugged.

“What? Everyone knows your dad isn’t exactly swimming in money.”

That was when I saw my daughter differently.

She wasn’t embarrassed by me.

She was afraid of him.

That mattered.

I stepped onto the terrace.

Emily followed a minute later.

“I didn’t know he was going to do this,” she whispered.

“How often does he talk to you like that?”

She looked away.

That was answer enough.

Then she said something that changed everything.

“He made me sign papers yesterday.”

“What papers?”

“He said they were financial documents because we’re married now.”

My stomach tightened.

“Did you read them?”

“He wouldn’t let me. He said his family lawyer had already checked everything.”

I pulled out my phone.

“Send me pictures.”

Her eyes widened.