He seemed decent.
A little sheltered.
Eager to believe the best in people.
My parents adored him instantly, mostly because of his last name.
The engagement turned my family feral with excitement.
My mother started saying things like, “This marriage changes everything.” My father suddenly developed opinions about floral designers and imported champagne.
Clara floated through it all like a queen receiving tribute.
Every event leading up to the wedding reminded me exactly where I stood.
I was invited, but not included.
Present, but peripheral.
When I offered to contribute financially, my mother rejected it with that cold little laugh of hers and said, “This wedding deserves only the best.”
I remember smiling when she said it, because sometimes smiling is the only way to keep from saying something that changes the room forever.
On the wedding day, I made one final mistake.
I hoped.
I hoped they would behave.
I hoped the ceremony would pass without incident.
I hoped that even my parents would understand there are lines you do not cross in front of two hundred guests.
The ceremony itself was lovely.
