**Stephen**
After I had dinner with Laura at Serendipity, I took her back to her hotel. I needed to get home to talk to my mother, an unsettling feeling churning in the pit of my stomach.
When I arrived at the penthouse and got off the elevator, I heard Chelsea’s voice.
“Instead of doves, I would like butterflies,” Chelsea said.
What the hell is she doing here, and why are we talking about butterflies?
I walked into the dining area where I heard Chelsea’s voice coming from. At the table sat my mother and a man I had never met before. The dozens of photos spread out on the table suggested they were planning an event.
“Ah, Stephen, we were just wondering why you weren’t here yet,” my mother said.
“I had business to take care of,” I replied.
“I see,” she said, her tone indicating that
