Juniper never warmed to her the way everyone said she eventually would. She wasn’t disrespectful—just cautious, like she was waiting for the truth to reveal itself. Whenever Maribel leaned too close, Junie’s shoulders tightened.
“Give it time,” people told me.
Maribel always agreed. “Junie’s protective,” she once said with a smile. “It’s kind of adorable.”
Juniper didn’t smile back. She just stared quietly at Maribel’s shoes.
Our wedding day arrived bright and lively. White chairs filled the backyard, string lights hung between the trees, and flowers decorated every other seat. Guests hugged me and whispered, “She would have wanted this,” and I swallowed the mix of sadness and hope.
My brother sla:pped my shoulder. “You’re doing it, man. A fresh start.”
“Yeah,” I said. “A new chapter.”
Juniper wore a pale floral dress and the serious expression she usually reserved for dentist visits. She sat in the front row during photos, then slipped away once the adults started chatting loudly. I assumed she had wandered into the kitchen for snacks.