Chapter 2 - The Wedding Ended in an Ambulance Bay
I did not ask Miranda what she meant.
That surprised everyone.
Including me.
For perhaps two seconds, every instinct I had wanted to drag the answer out of her in front of the entire room.
Then Daphne whimpered.
That decided the order.
I turned my back on Miranda.
Went downstairs.
Nolan was kneeling with Daphne beside a banquet chair.
“She says her left shoulder hurts.”
“Head?”
“She says no.”
“Neck?”
“No.”
“Call EMS.”
Already done.
Guests shifted away as two security men created space.
I crouched in front of my daughter.
“Look at me.”
Her face was wet.
“Is Mommy dead because I—”
“No.”
The question hit me physically.
Her mother, Juliana, had died when Daphne was four.
Ovarian cancer.
Eighteen months from diagnosis to funeral.
Daphne understood death.
Enough to know it did not reverse.
Not enough to understand why an adult would use it as a weapon.
“Miranda said—”
“Miranda said something cruel and false.”
“But she said join—”
“No.”
I held both her hands.
“You are here with me.”
She nodded.
Then looked toward the staircase.
“Are you still marrying her?”
I could not answer that until I knew what had legally happened.
The ceremony had been completed an hour earlier.
The officiant had signed the marriage license.
Miranda and I had signed.
Two witnesses too.
The document had not yet been returned to the county clerk.
That did not necessarily mean I could simply tear it up and pretend the marriage never occurred.
Law is not theater.
I said the only thing Daphne needed.
“You are coming home with me.”
Paramedics arrived.
They stabilized Daphne’s neck initially because of the fall.
That frightened her more.
I rode in the ambulance.
Nolan followed.
My lawyer called before we reached the hospital.
“Garrick.”
“Not now.”
“The police are at the house.”
“Good.”
“You struck Miranda.”
“I know.”
“Preston? No Preston. Sorry. Need correct. Nobody else. Fine.”
There was no second attacker.
Just Miranda.
“Do not give a statement without counsel present.”
“Preserve every camera.”
“Already happening.”
Then:
“What did she say about a son?”
I looked at Daphne.
Her eyes were closed.
“Later.”
At the emergency department, imaging showed no fracture.
No intracranial injury.
No spinal injury.
A bruised shoulder.
Two small abrasions from the carpet.
Mild concussion symptoms were monitored, though she never lost consciousness.
The doctor recommended waking precautions no longer routinely required unless symptoms emerged; instead we received clear return instructions.
She had been lucky.
Luck did not reduce Miranda’s choice.
The police photographed the bruising.
A child-protection social worker met us because the alleged assailant had been about to become Daphne’s stepparent.
I answered questions.
Nolan gave his account separately.
Daphne’s forensic interview would happen later in an appropriate setting, not at midnight in an emergency room while three adults asked her to repeat trauma.
At 1:36 a.m., my attorney, Adrian Beck, arrived.
He was fifty-two.
Family-law background before moving into private counsel for people whose money attracted complicated problems.
He sat beside me in the hospital corridor.
“First question.”
“Marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Likely valid if the ceremony satisfied state requirements, regardless of whether the license has been filed yet. We verify tomorrow.”
“So divorce.”
“Maybe annulment theories exist, but do not assume. We use the cleanest route available.”
“Prenup.”
“Signed and properly disclosed.”
“Good.”
Then Adrian looked at me.
“Second question.”
“The son.”
“Yes.”
I stared through the glass at Daphne sleeping.
May you like
“I have no idea.”
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