Harold took a step toward me.
"I used the letters to start a conversation. That doesn’t mean my feelings aren’t real."
"You wrote instructions on how to talk about my husband."
"I was trying not to hurt you."
My cousin Jean reached over to the family table, took Harold’s place card, and set it face down.
"No," I said. "You were trying not to lose access."
The garden had gone completely quiet.
The officiant closed his book.
My cousin Jean reached over to the family table, took Harold’s place card, and set it face down.
That small movement steadied me more than anything.
I walked to the arch and turned to the guests.
I held up Daniel’s letters.
"This wedding is not happening."
No one interrupted.
I held up Daniel’s letters.
"These belonged to my husband. Harold used them to make me believe he carried memories of me from school. He didn’t. He borrowed them from Daniel."
