The chapel doors were cracked open—just enough for me to hear my sister in white whisper, “She doesn’t know, right?”….

Then, on the third afternoon, Nate said he needed to “clear his head.”

“Just for an hour,” he promised, already sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Want me to come?” I asked.

He smiled too quickly. “No, babe. I just need to be alone.”

Something in his tone pulled tight in my gut. He kissed my forehead and walked out.

I waited ten minutes.

Then I followed.

Part 2 — The Chapel Hidden in the Hibiscus
I kept my distance down the palm-lined street, the air thick with salt and sunscreen. Nate didn’t head toward the beach. He moved fast—purposeful—like he knew exactly where he was going.