But Mom was staring at the papers.

“You told me this was about love,” she said quietly.

“It is.”

“Then why was he signing papers for four hundred thousand dollars without anybody explaining them?”

Rhiannon picked up her handbag.

“I don’t have to sit here and be insulted.”

She left with Brent.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Petey looked at me.

“Cal, are we still getting pizza later?”

I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Absolutely, buddy.”

THE SEVEN-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTY-THOUSAND-DOLLAR POLICY

After Rhiannon left, Mr. Whitcomb reviewed the remaining documents with us.

One was a proposed will naming Rhiannon as the primary beneficiary of assets Petey owned personally.

Another was an application for a life insurance policy.

The requested coverage was seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.

The proposed beneficiary was Rhiannon Tully.

Mom pressed a hand against her chest.

“Life insurance? Why would they need that?”

Whitcomb examined the pages.

“We don’t know whether a policy was ever issued. An application isn’t the same as active coverage.”

I looked at the date.

It had been prepared before the wedding.

“She’d only known him a few weeks.”

Mom shook her head.

“She told me she wanted to take care of him.”

“Then she should’ve explained what she was asking him to sign,” I said.

We reported the documents and our concerns to the appropriate authorities. Mr. Whitcomb also began reviewing the legal status of the marriage and the circumstances surrounding Petey’s consent.

The trust remained secure. Rhiannon couldn’t withdraw money simply by claiming to be Petey’s wife.

But the insurance application troubled me more than the request for a house.

It wasn’t proof of a crime.

Still, I wanted to understand why a woman who’d known my brother six weeks was trying to arrange such a substantial policy.

Then Mr. Whitcomb called me two days later.

“Callum, there’s something else you need to know about Rhiannon.”

I sat down.

“What is it?”

“She’s been married before. In Florida, in 2019.”

“Mom told me that.”

“Her former husband was thirty-one. He had an intellectual disability and had received a substantial settlement following a car accident.”

I felt a chill.

“What happened to him?”

Whitcomb paused.

“He died while they were married. The circumstances are being reviewed.”

“Where?”

“Mexico.”

I looked at the itinerary lying on my desk.

Cancún.

Ten days.

One return passenger.

Rhiannon.

THE SECOND HONEYMOON

I didn’t know what had happened to Rhiannon’s former husband, and I wasn’t going to pretend that a tragedy proved she was responsible.

But the similarities were impossible to ignore.

Her previous husband had been a man with an intellectual disability and significant financial assets. He’d died during a trip to Mexico, and Rhiannon had reportedly received life insurance proceeds afterward.

Now she had married Petey after six weeks, asked him to sign financial documents, applied for substantial insurance coverage, and arranged a honeymoon with an incomplete return itinerary.

I gave investigators everything I had.

The original flight printout.

Copies of the financial documents.

My notes about the wedding.

And the messages showing how quickly Rhiannon had begun interfering with Petey’s regular calls.

The authorities examined the evidence and coordinated with officials in Florida regarding the earlier death.

I was told that investigators had previously looked into the drowning but hadn’t developed sufficient evidence to bring charges. The new information warranted further review.

Meanwhile, Rhiannon continued insisting that I was interfering in her marriage for financial reasons.

She sent Mom several messages accusing me of keeping Petey dependent.

Mom showed them to me one evening.

“I believed her,” she said.

We were sitting at the kitchen table where Dad used to read the newspaper.

“I know.”

“She told me you were jealous because Peter was becoming independent.”

I looked at her.

“Did you believe that part?”

Mom hesitated.

“I thought maybe you were having trouble letting go.”

“Mom, I live four thousand miles away. I’ve spent five years wishing I could be more involved in his life.”

“But you weren’t here, Callum.”

The words stung because they were true.

“I know. You handled the appointments, the transportation, and all the little things nobody thinks about until somebody stops doing them. I should’ve helped more.”

She looked down at her hands.

“I was tired of everybody assuming Peter would never have a normal relationship. When Rhiannon came along, she talked about a wedding and a house and children. I wanted to believe her.”

“I wanted him to be happy, too.”

Mom’s eyes filled.

“I thought I was giving him something wonderful.”

“You wanted the best for him. But we can’t decide somebody is trustworthy just because they’re offering him something we want him to have.”

She nodded slowly.

“I should’ve asked more questions.”

For the first time since the wedding, we weren’t arguing about who loved Petey more.

We were talking about how we’d both failed to notice things we should have noticed.

THE CONSEQUENCES

The investigation continued for months.

Authorities examined the documents Petey had signed, the representations made on the insurance application, and the attempted access to trust funds. They also interviewed Rhiannon, Brent, and other people involved in preparing the paperwork.

Eventually, Rhiannon and Brent faced criminal charges related to the alleged financial exploitation and fraudulent documents. Florida authorities also reopened their review of the earlier drowning.

I understood that charges were allegations, not convictions, and that the Florida investigation might never establish criminal wrongdoing.

What mattered immediately was that Petey was no longer being pressured to sign papers or travel with someone whose intentions were under serious question.

The marriage required separate legal proceedings.

Mr. Whitcomb explained that the court had to consider Petey’s understanding of marriage and the circumstances in which he had consented, rather than treating his disability as automatic proof that he couldn’t marry.

After reviewing the evidence, the court granted an annulment.

The trust remained intact. The four-hundred-thousand-dollar distribution was never approved, and the disputed financial documents did not give Rhiannon control over Petey’s assets.

But none of that made the emotional consequences disappear.

Petey kept asking when Rhiannon was coming back.

He’d been excited about the wedding. He’d imagined a house, a honeymoon, and a future with someone who said she loved him.

Losing those plans hurt him.

One afternoon, I found him sitting on Mom’s back porch, holding the wedding ring in his palm.

“Cal, did Rhiannon ever love me?”

I sat beside him.

“I don’t know everything she felt, Pete.”

He turned the ring between his fingers.

“She said I was special.”

“You are special. That doesn’t depend on what she said.”

He was quiet for a while.

“She told me the papers were for our house.”

“I know.”

“But they weren’t just for our house.”

“No. Some of them were about money and decisions she wanted to control.”

He looked down.

“I didn’t understand them.”

“That’s why you should’ve been given time and help to understand them before signing.”

He rubbed his eyes.

“Was I stupid?”

I turned toward him.

“No, Pete. Trusting somebody who says they love you doesn’t make you stupid.”

He thought about that.

“Like a fake friend?”

“Something like that.”

He nodded slowly.

Then he leaned against my shoulder.

“I’m glad you came, Cal.”

I put my arm around him.

“Me too, buddy.”

We sat together until Mom called us in for dinner.

FOUR O’CLOCK ON SUNDAY

I went back to London long enough to finish my work commitments and arrange a move.

I’d been thinking about returning to Georgia for nearly a year, but what happened with Petey made the decision feel more urgent.

Mom was getting older, and Petey was building his adult life. I wanted to be close enough to help without taking over every decision.

A few months later, I opened a small law practice in Savannah.

I bought a modest house with a spare bedroom, a comfortable sofa, and a porch big enough for two chairs.

Petey didn’t move in permanently. He still had his job, his friends, and his routines with Mom. But he came over often, especially when the Braves were playing.

We also worked with his support team to make sure he had more opportunities to understand financial decisions and speak for himself. I wanted him to have relationships, independence, and the confidence to ask questions when something didn’t feel right.

One Sunday afternoon, I was sitting on the sofa watching baseball when my phone rang.

The screen showed Petey’s name.

I looked toward the other end of the couch.

He was sitting three feet away, wearing his Braves cap and eating popcorn.

I answered.

“Hello?”

He grinned into his phone.

“Hey, Cal. Did you watch the Braves?”

I laughed.

“Pete, we’re watching them right now.”

“I know. But it’s four o’clock.”

I looked at the clock.

Exactly four.

For five years, he’d called me every Sunday at that time because it was the one routine that made the distance between us feel smaller.

Now he was sitting right beside me.

“You’re right, buddy,” I said. “Wouldn’t want to miss our call.”

He laughed and ended it.

Then he picked up the remote, turned the volume up a little, and settled back against the cushions.

On the coffee table sat a framed photograph of the two of us with Dad at an old Braves game. Petey was twelve in the picture, grinning beneath a baseball cap that was much too big for his head.

I looked at the photograph, then at my brother beside me.

He caught me smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing, Pete. I’m just glad I’m home.”

He handed me the popcorn.

“Me too, Cal.”

And we went back to watching the game.