“Stop looking at my husband.”
My sister Madison said it loud enough for nearby officers to hear. The conversations around us instantly faded.
I remained calm.
I didn’t blink.
I only kept my gaze fixed on Jason beneath the American flag as Madison leaned closer beside me, wearing that tight smile she used whenever she wanted to embarrass someone politely.
“You look ridiculous, Rachel,” she whispered. “He picked me. You really need to move on.”
If only she knew the real reason I was there.
The leather briefcase beside my chair held something Jason believed had vanished forever—the original classified file proving he had forged my signature years earlier and almost destroyed my military career to save his own.
And today, he still thought no one knew.
My mother sat rigidly beside Madison in a cream-colored suit, pearl earrings, and a small flag pin attached to her lapel. Earlier that week, she had called and told me, “Please don’t make Jason’s ceremony awkward.”
