Paige broke.
Not beautifully.
Not like women cry in movies, with one perfect tear sliding down a flawless cheek.
She made a sound like something inside her had finally cracked.
The letter slipped from her hand and floated to the floor.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then I stepped down from the altar.
My dress whispered around my legs.
It was not white.
That was the second surprise.
Everyone had expected me in a traditional bridal gown. Paige had expected it most of all. She thought standing beside me in white would create a comparison.
But I had chosen pale blue.
Mom’s favorite color.
The same soft blue as the scarf on the empty chair. The same blue as the dress she wore in every photograph where she looked truly happy. The same blue as the kitchen curtains she sewed when we were kids, back when our house still smelled like cinnamon rolls and Sunday mornings instead of hospital disinfectant and unsaid things.
