He was my hero, my mentor, the man who taught me that integrity was worth more than any paycheck.

My father, sixty years old, was a respected real estate broker, his reputation built over three decades. He and my mother, Mary, had been married for thirty-five years, their bond the gold standard against which I measured all others. When I introduced him to Meghan two years ago, he welcomed her like the daughter he never had.

Meghan, thirty, was a sharp, beautiful marketing coordinator. We met at a Fourth of July barbecue, and within three months, I knew I wanted to spend my life with her. She fit into my family seamlessly.

My mother adored her, and my father often remarked how lucky I was. Our wedding was