The air was thick with tension as we approached my son’s car. A part of me wanted to stop, turn back, and return to the laughter and clinking glasses of the reception. But there was a resoluteness in my son’s eyes that warned me against ignoring him.
He opened the trunk and pulled out a stack of papers. “I didn’t want to ruin her day—or yours—but you need to see this,” he said, handing the documents over. I took them, my hands trembling slightly as I flipped through the pages.
