“Okay. I’m ready.”
He nodded approvingly.
“Good.”
The church doors opened.
One hundred and forty guests rose to their feet.
At the end of the aisle, Daniel waited for me.
Mom was already crying in the front pew.
Margaret sat two seats away.
I saw all of them.
Then I stopped seeing anyone except Nathan.
He took his first step.
“One,” he whispered.
Another.
“Two.”
Another.
“Three.”
I tightened my hand around his arm.
He glanced at me anxiously.
“Too fast?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“I practiced.”
“I know you did.”
We continued.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Perfectly.
Lena’s photographers moved almost invisibly around us.
One remained near the front.
Another followed our movement from the side, capturing the moments I had secretly rearranged the wedding budget to preserve.
Nathan never hurried.
He never lost his place.
He never let go.
Halfway down the aisle, I noticed his mouth beginning to tremble.
For a moment, I thought he might cry.
Instead, he leaned slightly toward me.
“Dad would’ve liked your dress.”
My vision blurred.
Somehow, we kept walking.
When we reached the altar, Nathan stopped exactly where Father Michael had instructed him.
He released my arm.
Then he shook Daniel’s hand.
Daniel ignored the formality and pulled him into a hug.
Nathan hugged him back.
Then he turned toward me.
According to the plan, that was the moment he was supposed to sit beside Mom.
Except he didn’t move.
Instead, he reached into his jacket.
