My father was gone.
My mother cried almost continuously.
Caleb looked as though he wished he could disappear.
Half our guests whispered behind their hands while the rest pretended nothing unusual had happened.
Then Ethan began his vows, and everything inside the chapel shifted.
“Maya,” he said while holding my hands, “I cannot promise you a life without hard days. I can’t promise I’ll always have the right words. I can’t promise people will always understand what we choose. But I promise I will never use love as a leash. I will never ask you to be smaller so I can feel stronger. I will stand beside you, not in front of you, unless you ask me to block the wind.”
A tearful laugh escaped before I could stop it.
When it became my turn, I remembered the carefully written vows tucked beneath the ribbon around my bouquet. I’d rehearsed them over and over until they sounded graceful.
