“Dad always helped Claire when she got scared.”
I covered my mouth.
Ethan looked at me.
“Even when she said she wasn’t scared.”
Soft laughter moved through the chapel.
Accurate.
He returned to the paper.
“Dad was supposed to walk Claire today.”
“But Dad died.”
My mother broke down completely.
I heard her.
Ethan continued.
“So Dad cannot do his job.”
He paused.
“I asked if I could do it.”
My chest hurt.
“Claire said yes.”
He smiled at me.
“Dad told me I am the big brother.”
“And big brothers help.”
His voice shook.
Then:
“So today I did Dad’s job.”
He looked down at the final line.
“And I think I did it right.”
Nobody moved.
Then Adrian said from beside me:
“You did it perfectly.”
Ethan looked up.
“Perfect?”
“Perfect.”
He smiled.
Folded the paper carefully.
Then whispered to me:
“Do I sit now?”
The chapel exploded with laughter through tears.
“Yes.”
I hugged him.
“Now you sit.”
“Okay.”
He walked to the front pew and sat beside Mom.
The ceremony continued.
I barely remember parts of it.
I remember Adrian’s hands.
Our vows.
My mother crying.
Sunlight through the windows.
And once, while the minister spoke, I glanced toward Margaret.
She was not watching me.
She was watching Ethan.
Her expression was unreadable.
She did not say one word about him that day.
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Not during photographs.
Not at dinner.
Not when Ethan gave an enthusiastic speech about Adrian being “good enough” to marry me.
Not when the photographer took approximately twenty separate pictures of Ethan and me.
Margaret said nothing.
Eight weeks later, our wedding photographs arrived.
The main album was beautiful.
I expected that.
Ceremony.
Vows.
Family.
Reception.
First dance.
Cake.
Then came the second album.
The one Margaret knew nothing about.
I opened it alone first.
Page one:
Ethan sitting while Adrian helped with his cufflink.
Page two:
A close photograph of Dad’s cufflinks on Ethan’s wrists.
Page three:
Ethan checking his watch.
Page four:
Ethan standing alone inside Cedarbrook Chapel’s rear corridor.
Arm bent.
Practicing.
Then the doors.
Ethan looking at me for the first time in my wedding dress.
His expression was enough to make me cry before I reached page ten.
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Then the processional.
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His lips moving.
Counting.
My hand gripping his arm.
His eyes focused.
One photograph captured the exact moment he asked:
“Too fast?”
Another caught us laughing.
Then the moment halfway down when he mentioned Dad.
My face breaking.
His too.
At the altar:
The handshake.
Adrian’s unexpected hug.
Then the speech.
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A two-page photograph showed Ethan holding the folded paper.
Everyone behind him blurred.
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