Chapter 2 - The Missing Ninety-Three Minutes
I remembered my wedding until 12:38 a.m.
After that, almost nothing.
That realization frightened me more than the blood.
I remembered dancing with Ethan.
I remembered Margaret drinking champagne while somehow becoming steadier instead of drunker.
I remembered cutting my palm.
I remembered removing my veil downstairs.
Then I remembered standing at the bathroom mirror in our bedroom, wiping away makeup.
Margaret came in carrying a pillow.
She claimed the music downstairs was too loud.
Ethan asked me to let her stay.
Angry and exhausted, I took a pillow and went downstairs.
That was the version I had believed.
But when I checked my phone, the timeline was impossible.
At 1:07 a.m., I had taken a photograph.
Upstairs.
Inside the bedroom.
I didn’t remember taking it.
The picture showed our wedding bed.
Empty.
On the mattress sat a black wooden box I had never seen before.
At 1:19, I had called Ethan.
Twenty-seven seconds.
No memory.
At 1:31, I sent myself a voice memo.
Deleted.
At 1:46, my phone recorded 911 being dialed but never connected.
Then nothing until 3:14.
I had supposedly been sleeping downstairs during that entire period.
“Where was I?”
Ethan stared at the floor.
Margaret answered.
“With me.”
I turned.
“What?”
“You came back upstairs.”
“Why?”
“You heard Ethan moving something.”
Ethan stood abruptly.
“Mom.”
“No more.”
Margaret’s calm finally cracked.
“She deserves to know.”
“Know what?”
Margaret looked toward the floor.
“The Harper chest.”
The object beneath us.
A large cedar trunk that had belonged to Ethan’s father, Robert.
Robert Harper died when Ethan was sixteen.
According to Ethan, the chest contained old military papers and family photographs.
Margaret had forbidden anyone from opening it for nineteen years.
“Why was it here on our wedding night?”
Ethan whispered:
“Because Dad left instructions.”
“What instructions?”
He looked ashamed.
“The chest was supposed to be opened after I married.”
I laughed nervously.
“What kind of family tradition is that?”
“It isn’t.”
Margaret answered instead.
“Robert believed Ethan’s wife needed to know something before the marriage was consummated.”
My skin crawled.
“Something about Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Neither answered.
I looked at the hospital bracelet again.
“What happened at 2:41?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“You collapsed.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why don’t I remember the hospital?”
Margaret whispered:
“Because Ethan brought you home before the doctor discharged you.”
I stared at him.
“You did what?”
“I panicked.”
“Why?”
His voice broke.
“Because while you were unconscious, you kept saying something.”
“What?”
Ethan looked toward the cedar chest downstairs.
“You kept saying my father’s name.”
I had never met Robert Harper.
He died twelve years before I met Ethan.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“What did I say?”
May you like
Ethan swallowed.
“You said, ‘Robert, I found the other bride.’”
