I never thought my life would end with a diamond-encrusted handcuff disguised as a wedding ring.

The cathedral was a masterpiece of cold opulence—vaulted ceilings dripping with crystal chandeliers that cast fractured rainbows across the marble floors, banks of white lilies and blood-red roses lining every aisle like funeral wreaths for my freedom. The air smelled of beeswax candles, expensive cologne, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil that no amount of floral perfume could mask. My father sat rigid in the third pew, two of his remaining loyal soldiers flanking him like bookends, his face the color of old ash. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Across the aisle,...