Chap­ter 6 unfolds in the tense after­math of a wed­ding that was sup­posed to be a joy­ous occa­sion but instead became the back­drop for tragedy. The recep­tion hall, once filled with laugh­ter, music, and the clink­ing of glass­es, is now a place of qui­et urgency as the cater­ing staff swift­ly clears tables, remov­ing all signs of cel­e­bra­tion. The once-beau­ti­ful cen­ter­pieces are hand­ed out to guests as part­ing gifts, an unspo­ken ges­ture meant to ush­er them away and allow the griev­ing fam­i­ly their pri­va­cy. Con­ver­sa­tions among the atten­dees are hushed but point­ed, as mur­murs about Aidan’s death rip­ple through the crowd. Many refer to the inci­dent as a “ter­ri­ble acci­dent,” though their low­ered voic­es and stolen glances sug­gest a mix­ture of spec­u­la­tion and judg­ment rather than gen­uine sym­pa­thy. As the final guests trick­le out, Frank stands in his tuxe­do, observ­ing the scene unfold around him, the real­i­ty of what has hap­pened weigh­ing heav­i­ly on his chest. Despite their polite expres­sions, he can see the dis­com­fort in their faces, the avoid­ance of eye con­tact, as if prox­im­i­ty to grief is some­thing con­ta­gious. For a moment, he won­ders if they tru­ly feel sor­ry or if they are mere­ly relieved that the tragedy was not their own to bear.

Amid the uncom­fort­able depar­ture, a man named Arman­do Cas­ta­do approach­es Frank, offer­ing a busi­ness card and a qui­et assur­ance that he’s avail­able to talk any­time. Though the ges­ture appears sin­cere, Frank feels an inter­nal resis­tance, unsure if he has the ener­gy or will­ing­ness to rehash every­thing with a stranger. His mind is con­sumed by one press­ing concern—Maggie. She has dis­tanced her­self, choos­ing to grieve in soli­tude, and Frank is pow­er­less to reach her. He remem­bers how, just hours ear­li­er, he had found him­self in the base­ment where Aidan’s life had end­ed so sud­den­ly. The image of Aidan lying life­less on the cold floor is burned into his mem­o­ry, a scene so sur­re­al that it feels like some­thing out of a night­mare. His instinct had been to call for help, but before he could do any­thing, Hugo had stopped him, his grip firm and unyield­ing. “Not yet,” Hugo had warned, insist­ing that they had to wait until the right moment before alert­ing any­one. When Errol and Ger­ry final­ly arrived, their reac­tion was not one of grief or even shock—it was one of cold cal­cu­la­tion.

Frank had expect­ed chaos, pan­ic, or at least some emo­tion­al response, but instead, he was met with care­ful delib­er­a­tion. Errol and Ger­ry spoke in hushed tones, imme­di­ate­ly dis­cussing dam­age con­trol and the best way to pro­tect them­selves. Frank had bare­ly processed what had hap­pened before Ger­ry laid out the plan: they would tell every­one that Aidan had nev­er arrived at the wed­ding, that he had been found lat­er, dead from an unfor­tu­nate acci­dent. It was a lie, a clean cov­er-up designed to ensure that no one asked too many ques­tions. Frank found him­self ques­tion­ing how they could be so detached, so quick to erase the truth in favor of con­ve­nience. His own sense of moral­i­ty warred with the real­i­ty of what he had become entan­gled in. He want­ed no part in their decep­tion, but his options felt lim­it­ed.

The weight of the sit­u­a­tion only grew heav­ier when Errol revealed some­thing that left Frank reeling—Aidan was nev­er his bio­log­i­cal son. With an air of indif­fer­ence, Errol admit­ted that years ago, he had tak­en a DNA test, con­firm­ing that there was no blood rela­tion between them. His voice lacked any trace of sad­ness, any sign that this rev­e­la­tion had ever caused him pain. Instead, he stat­ed mat­ter-of-fact­ly that he had pro­vid­ed for Aidan finan­cial­ly but had nev­er tru­ly seen him as his own. The words struck Frank hard­er than expect­ed, not because of the rev­e­la­tion itself, but because of the cold way it was deliv­ered. How could a man so eas­i­ly sev­er ties with some­one who had looked up to him? How could he dis­miss Aidan’s life, his strug­gles, his exis­tence, with such detach­ment?

As the night wore on, Frank felt an unde­ni­able shift with­in him­self. Mag­gie no longer had any con­nec­tion to this fam­i­ly, and in many ways, nei­ther did he. Aidan had tried to sep­a­rate him­self from them long before his trag­ic end, and per­haps now it was Frank’s turn to do the same. The events of the wed­ding, the lies, the betray­als, and the indif­fer­ence had made one thing clear—Osprey Cove was no longer a place where he belonged. His only pri­or­i­ty now was Mag­gie, ensur­ing that she did not get trapped in the same tan­gled web that had ensnared Aidan. With that thought, he stepped away from the rem­nants of the night, ready to put dis­tance between him­self and every­thing that had unrav­eled with­in those walls.