Max’s instincts had saved me.
Later, when the officers questioned me, they said the evidence spilling out of that suitcase matched the details of an ongoing investigation. Mark—Michael, his real name—had been on their radar for months.
He had planned to flee the country that night.
Using my accounts. Using my trust. Using my love.
When the last police car left and the garden grew quiet again, I sat on a white rose-covered bench, numb. My wedding dress was torn where Max had brushed against it. My makeup was ruined.
But Max… he rested his head on my lap, whining softly as if apologizing.
“No, buddy,” I whispered, stroking his fur. “You saved me.”
The guests approached, gently, offering comfort.
My mother wrapped a shawl around my shoulders.
My father sat beside me. “Better today than ten years later,” he said softly.
And he was right.
