I knew which one she meant.
The speech.
“Yes.”
That was all.
She never apologized.
Not in words.
And I stopped needing her to.
A few weeks later, Daniel sent me a photograph from his parents’ house.
The picture was hanging in Margaret’s hallway.
Nathan at the altar.
Paper in his hands.
A frame she had absolutely paid too much for.
I couldn’t believe it.
Now when people visit, apparently she tells them, “That’s Sarah’s brother, Nathan. Their father died before the wedding, so Nathan walked her down the aisle.”
Then, according to Daniel, “He practiced for three weeks because he wanted to get it right.”
She says it like it’s the best thing she knows about us.
Maybe by now it is.
I never told Nathan what she said at that dinner table.
