David’s sister, Claire, came up behind me later and nudged my shoulder.
“Okay,” she whispered, “I have to admit… watching Mom get humbled was kind of amazing.”
I snorted softly. “It wasn’t my plan.”
“I know,” Claire said. “That’s why it was perfect.”
On the night before the wedding, my mother helped me into the dress for a final fitting at my parents’ house.
The silk slid over my skin like water. The beadwork caught the light gently, not shouting, just glowing.
My mother adjusted the neckline, her hands practiced and calm.
“You know,” she said softly, “in all my years wearing runway creations, I never felt as beautiful as I know you will tomorrow.”
I looked at her in the mirror. “Because it’s a Richie dress?”
My mother smiled. “No,” she said. “Because tomorrow, you’re wearing it for love. Not for appearance.”
I swallowed, throat tight.
Outside, my father was grilling vegetables, the smell of smoke and seasoning drifting through the open window. David was in the backyard helping him, laughing at something my dad said.
My life—simple, steady, real—was waiting for me on the other side of this wedding.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was walking into a world that required me to change.