Chapter 2 - The Empty Wrist
The morning of the wedding came in clear and cold, the kind of crisp October air that makes everything look sharper than it is. The old stone chapel sat at the edge of town, gray walls and heavy wooden doors, stained-glass windows scattering red and blue light across the pews.
I arrived early in a simple navy lace dress off the rack. No special styling. No oversized bag stuffed with emergency safety pins and bobby pins the way I'd carried to every dress fitting for the past ten months. I sat outside the bridal suite hallway and told myself I'd only help if someone specifically asked.
The coordinator hurried past carrying a tray of flowers, then stopped short.
"Renee — here's your corsage."
She opened a small white box. White roses, baby's breath, ivory ribbon. A genuinely beautiful mother-of-the-bride wrist corsage.
My chest went tight.
"I think that should go to Denise."
She blinked. "Sophie ordered this specifically for you."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Please." I forced a smile that felt like it might crack my whole face. "Give it to her aunt, or set it by Lauren's photograph on the memorial table. A simple pin is plenty for me."
She looked baffled, but she took it.
Daniel walked past a moment later, adjusting his charcoal tie. He noticed the empty box, then my bare wrist.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
The coordinator explained. Daniel looked at me and nodded, slow and satisfied.
"Probably smart," he said, lowering his voice like he was letting me in on something. "Keeps things clear."
I didn't feel hurt anymore in that moment. That would have been easier. What I felt was cold, all the way through, like something inside me had simply stopped trying.
I walked into the chapel and sat in the second row. There was an empty seat beside Daniel in the front pew. I let it stay empty.
The organ started. Everyone stood. The rear doors opened, and Sophie appeared in the afternoon light.
She was breathtaking. Her veil fell from an intricate braid, and woven through that braid, catching the light from the stained glass, were Lauren's six pearl hairpins.
For one whole second, I forgot every ounce of hurt from that week. I saw the fourteen-year-old who wouldn't speak to me at dinner. The seventeen-year-old eating strawberry ice cream straight from the carton on my kitchen floor after a breakup. The terrified college freshman calling me at midnight, certain her whole future had collapsed over one bad exam. And now this young woman, walking down the aisle toward the man she loved.
Daniel walked her down. When they reached the altar, he hugged her, and she squeezed him back hard.
Then, before turning to face Noah, Sophie's eyes swept the front rows.
They found me. Second row.
Her gaze dropped to my wrist. Bare.
May you like
Then to the empty seat beside her father.
A flicker of confusion crossed her face — there and gone, quick as a blink — before the music swelled and the ceremony began in earnest.
