Chapter 10 - The Empty Chapel
The chapel looked smaller without the guests.
For months, I had imagined it filled with flowers, sunlight, and the people we loved.
Now the white pews stood empty.
A few abandoned programs lay scattered near the entrance.
The organist had gone home.
The string quartet's chairs were stacked against the wall.
And the long white runner down the aisle ended at an altar where nobody was waiting to make a promise.
I stood in the doorway.
For one painful moment, I couldn't move.
My mother squeezed my hand.
"You don't have to go in."
I looked at her.
"I know."
Then I stepped inside.
Constance sat in the front pew.
She had removed her pearls again.
Her silver gown looked almost ordinary in the quiet afternoon light.
Spencer stood beside her.
When he saw me, he straightened.
His eyes moved to the jacket in my arms.
"Erin."
I nodded.
"Hi."
He looked as though he wanted to come closer.
But he waited.
I appreciated that more than I could say.
Constance stood.
"Erin, I—"
"Not yet."
She stopped.
I set my ruined jacket carefully on the front pew.
Then I placed Dad's photograph beside it.
Without the broken frame, the picture looked strangely fragile.
Just a rectangle of glossy paper.
My father smiling beside me.
His hand resting on my shoulder.
I looked at Constance.
"Daniel Rourke is on the phone."
Her expression changed.
She reached for the pew.
"What?"
"He's willing to speak with you."
She shook her head.
"No."
I held her gaze.
"He wants to."
Her lips trembled.
"I can't."
Spencer turned.
"Mom."
She shook her head again.
"Please."
I understood then that she wasn't refusing out of arrogance.
She was terrified.
For thirty-five years, she had built an entire identity around never looking backward.
Catherine Vale had been buried beneath Constance Prescott.
The nurse.
The captain.
The young woman who had stayed beside injured soldiers when everyone else was exhausted.
The woman who had been blamed for a death she couldn't prevent.
She had hidden all of it.
And now a man who remembered her from that terrible night wanted to speak.
I took out my phone.
"You don't have to say anything."
Constance stared at it.
"Just listen."
I dialed.
Daniel answered immediately.
"Erin?"
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"She's here."
I placed the phone on the pew and switched to speaker.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Daniel spoke.
"Captain Vale?"
Constance covered her mouth.
Her eyes filled instantly.
He waited.
Finally, she whispered, "Daniel?"
His voice broke.
"Yes, ma'am."
She began crying.
Not gracefully.
Not quietly.
Her knees seemed to buckle, and Spencer caught her before she sat.
Daniel continued.
"I've wanted to thank you for a very long time."
Constance shook her head.
"No."
"Ma'am."
"No, Daniel."
Her voice trembled.
"You don't understand."
"I think I do."
She stared at the phone.
"I should have done more."
Daniel was silent.
Then he said gently, "You did everything you could."
She shook her head.
"Matthew died."
His voice softened.
"I know."
"I tried."
"I know."
She pressed both hands against her face.
"I tried to save him."
Daniel waited.
"I know you did."
For a long time, Constance couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, "His mother hated me."
Daniel took a slow breath.
"She was grieving."
Constance nodded helplessly.
"She said I chose you."
Silence.
Then Daniel said, "You didn't choose me because I mattered more."
Her eyes lifted.
"You treated the patients in front of you with the resources you had."
Constance began shaking.
Daniel continued.
"I was there."
"I heard you asking for more help."
"I heard you telling people to keep working."
He paused.
"I also remember you coming back to check on me after you'd already been awake longer than anyone should have been."
Constance cried harder.
Daniel's voice became firm.
"You were a good nurse, Captain."
She shook her head.
"You don't know what happened afterward."
"I know the investigation cleared you."
She looked up sharply.
"I know your career was never the same."
He took a breath.
"And I know you disappeared."
Constance stared at the phone.
"I couldn't stay."
"I understand."
"No."
She shook her head.
"I don't think you do."
Daniel waited.
Constance looked toward the altar.
"Every time I put on that uniform, I saw Matthew's mother."
Her voice cracked.
"I heard her asking for her son."
I stood motionless.
She continued.
"I couldn't look at myself without remembering what she said."
Daniel spoke softly.
"I'm sorry."
Constance wiped her face.
"I left the Army."
She swallowed.
"I married Walter."
"And I tried to become someone who had never been there."
Nobody spoke.
Then Daniel said, "Captain, can I tell you something your old friend Bud used to say?"
Constance looked up.
"Bud?"
"Arthur Lennox."
She began crying again.
Daniel continued.
"He said people can survive terrible things and still make terrible mistakes afterward."
I felt my throat tighten.
"He said surviving doesn't excuse what you choose to do next."
Constance stared at the phone.
I glanced toward Dad's photograph.
It sounded exactly like him.
Daniel took a slow breath.
"Erin told me what happened today."
Constance closed her eyes.
"I know."
"You hurt his daughter."
The words echoed through the empty chapel.
Constance's shoulders shook.
Daniel continued.
"That isn't something your service can excuse."
She whispered, "I know."
"Bud respected you."
Her eyes opened.
"He wrote to you because he believed you needed to hear that someone had seen your courage."
Constance nodded.
"But he would never have wanted his daughter to pay for your pain."
I began crying.
Spencer reached for my hand.
This time, I held on.
Daniel's voice softened.
"Captain Vale, you were a good officer."
A pause.
"Be the kind of person that officer would have wanted you to become."
Then he was quiet.
Constance sat staring at the phone.
Finally, she whispered, "Thank you, Daniel."
"You're welcome, ma'am."
She wiped her cheeks.
"And I'm sorry."
He paused.
"For what?"
"For disappearing."
Daniel gave a small, sad laugh.
"Well."
His voice warmed.
"You can start by answering your phone next time."
Constance let out a broken laugh.
For a moment, I caught a glimpse of someone completely different.
Not the cruel woman who had mocked my uniform.
Not the society hostess who cared more about appearances than people.
A frightened former Army captain who had spent thirty-five years avoiding the woman she used to be.
When the call ended, Constance sat quietly.
Then she looked at me.
"Erin."
I waited.
She glanced toward my ruined jacket.
Her face crumpled.
"I did something unforgivable."
I swallowed.
"Yes."
She nodded.
No argument.
No excuse.
No attempt to correct my tone.
She looked at Spencer.
"I told myself I was protecting the family."
Her voice shook.
"But I was protecting my pride."
She turned back toward me.
"And when I saw you wearing that uniform, so proud and so certain of who you were, I hated how much it reminded me of everything I'd abandoned."
I stared at her.
Constance continued.
"I thought if I could make you change, I wouldn't have to remember."
Her tears fell.
"But that was cowardly."
I said nothing.
She looked at Dad's photograph.
"Your father once told me I had nothing to be ashamed of."
Her voice cracked.
"And then I spent two years making his daughter feel ashamed."
I felt something twist in my chest.
Constance lowered her head.
"I'm sorry."
The words were quiet.
Simple.
Unprotected.
For the first time, they sounded real.
But I wasn't ready to forgive her.
I looked at the ruined uniform.
"Do you know what hurt the most?"
She shook her head.
"Not the dirt."
I swallowed.
"Not the note."
My eyes filled.
"It was knowing you understood what that uniform meant and still wanted it gone."
Constance covered her mouth.
I continued.
"You knew my father was dead."
She nodded.
"You knew what he asked me to do."
Another nod.
"And you decided your embarrassment mattered more."
Tears ran down her cheeks.
"Yes."
The answer surprised me.
No defense.
No explanation.
Just yes.
I took a breath.
"Then you need to live with that."
She nodded.
"I will."
I looked toward Spencer.
He was crying silently.
I reached for his hand.
"I'm not getting married today."
He closed his eyes.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"But I haven't stopped loving you."
He looked at me.
"I love you too."
"Then we need to figure out whether we can build something that doesn't depend on your family approving of me."
He nodded.
"We will."
Constance stood.
"Erin."
I turned.
She took a shaky breath.
"Can I do one thing?"
I hesitated.
"What?"
She looked toward the photograph of my father.
Then toward the jacket.
"Can I help repair the damage?"
I stared at her.
For a moment, I thought she meant the uniform.
A tailor.
A replacement.
Dry cleaning.
Something money could purchase.
Then she continued.
"Not just the jacket."
Her voice broke.
"Everything I've been pretending not to see."
Before I could answer, the chapel door opened.
Owen stepped inside.
His face was tense.
"Spencer."
We all turned.
Owen glanced at Constance.
Then at me.
"I need to speak with you."
Spencer frowned.
"What's wrong?"
Owen took a breath.
"Robert just called the foundation's attorney."
Constance stiffened.
"And?"
Owen's expression darkened.
"He's trying to remove you from the family trust's upcoming review."
Spencer stared at him.
"Can he do that?"
Owen shook his head.
"I don't think so."
Then he added, "But he also told the attorney that Erin is using allegations about the scholarship fund to extort the family."
For a moment, I thought I'd misheard.
"What?"
Owen looked at me.
"He claims you threatened to expose private information unless he approved the marriage."
Constance's face went white.
Spencer's grip tightened around my hand.
May you like
And I realized Robert Prescott wasn't merely trying to stop my wedding anymore.
He was trying to make me the villain in a story he had helped create.
