Chapter 7 - Picking Up the Pieces
With David’s empire dismantled and his criminal trial moving forward without requiring my constant presence, Sarah and I decided it was time to reclaim our normal lives. We threw ourselves back into our respective careers—Sarah advancing at her architectural firm and me diving back into managing our family's commercial real estate portfolio.
Working became a form of therapy. Every lease signed, every building renovated, every tenant successfully placed was a tangible reminder of my own independence and strength. I wasn't defined by the wedding that almost killed me; I was defined by how I walked away from the wreckage.
One afternoon, while reviewing architectural blueprints with Sarah over lunch at a downtown cafe, she looked up from her tablet and smiled.
"You know," Sarah said, tapping her stylus against the screen, "we never actually took that honeymoon."
I choked on my iced tea, coughing slightly before laughing. "Sarah, please tell me you're joking. A honeymoon? After everything?"
"Not a romantic one, obviously," she grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm talking about a real trip. Just the two of us. Somewhere far away from Chicago, cell service, and federal investigators. Greece, maybe? Or Italy?"
I looked at my sister—the woman who had risked her life, torn her dress, and broken into a madman's private files just to save me from a poisoned piece of cake. The idea of packing a bag, leaving the reminders of the past behind, and watching the Mediterranean sunset sounded like heaven.
"Only if we fly first class," I stipulated, raising an eyebrow. "And strictly no men allowed unless they are professional tour guides or waiters."
"Deal," Sarah laughed, raising her glass of lemonade to mine. "To surviving the worst wedding in modern history."
"To surviving," I echoed, clinking my glass against hers.
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As we finalized our travel plans over the next few weeks, I realized how much my perspective on life had changed. The naivety that had once made me an easy target for a sociopath like David was gone, replaced by a fierce, unshakeable intuition. I had learned to trust my instincts, to listen to the people who truly loved me, and never to ignore the quiet warning bells whispering in the back of my mind.
The fairytale ending I had once envisioned—a lavish wedding, a charming prince, a perfect happily-ever-after—had turned out to be a carefully constructed trap. But the real ending was infinitely better: freedom, safety, and an unbreakable bond with the sister who had dragged me out of the fire.
