Chapter 10 - The Wedding Question
Planning my second wedding terrified me.
Not because I doubted Daniel.
Because family events had become emotionally radioactive.
Mom offered to help.
I said no.
Lauren offered.
I said maybe.
Dad said, “Elope.”
Daniel agreed enthusiastically.
I considered it.
Then realized I did not want betrayal to steal celebrations forever.
So we planned something small.
Forty people.
Garden ceremony.
Dinner.
No elaborate bridal party.
Lauren asked whether she would be included.
The question hurt both of us.
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Weeks later, I called.
“I want you beside me.”
Silence.
Then crying.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t deserve—”
“Stop.”
She went quiet.
“This is not a reward for good behavior.”
“Okay.”
“It’s a choice.”
“Okay.”
She became my maid of honor.
That decision confused several relatives.
Aunt Joanne actually asked Mom, “After everything?”
Mom answered before I could.
“Yes. After everything.”
I looked at her.
Progress.
The night before the wedding, Lauren and I sat on my hotel balcony.
She handed me a small box.
Inside was Grandma’s bracelet.
“I thought Mom had this.”
“She gave it to me years ago.”
I stared.
“She gave you Grandma’s bracelet?”
Lauren winced.
“I know.”
Grandma had promised it to me as a child.
Another old resentment.
“Why?”
“Because she thought I needed something special.”
Of course.
Mom constantly compensated Lauren for feeling second.
I never knew.
Lauren continued.
“I should have given it back sooner.”
I touched the bracelet.
“You didn’t steal this.”
“No.”
“Mom made the choice.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
Lauren blinked.
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m tired of making every object into evidence.”
She laughed.
“Therapy?”
“Expensive therapy.”
We drank wine.
Then Lauren said, “Do you trust Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
I thought.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“Is that bad?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“I trust him enough to know I’ll survive if I’m wrong.”
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“That sounds healthier than complete trust.”
“It feels healthier.”
The wedding day was beautiful.
Daniel cried before I reached the altar.
Dad whispered, “Good.”
Mom sat beside him.
They had moved back in together six months earlier.
Not because everything was forgotten.
Because both chose it.
Their second marriage, without paperwork, looked quieter.
More deliberate.
At the ceremony, Daniel promised something I did not expect.
“I cannot promise never to disappoint you. I can promise never to make you doubt what you are allowed to know.”
I cried.
Lauren cried harder.
Mom covered her face.
Even Dad looked emotional.
At dinner, I had one moment of panic.
The seating chart.
Lauren was across from Mom.
Dad beside Daniel’s father.
Everything was fine.
Still, I counted chairs.
Daniel noticed.
“How many?”
“Forty.”
“Guests?”
“Forty.”
“Excellent engineering.”
I laughed.
Then he added a chair.
“What are you doing?”
“Contingency.”
I stared.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Architect.”
We kissed.
That night, happiness felt uncomplicated for almost six hours.
Then Lauren knocked on our hotel door.
At midnight.
Crying.
I opened it in a robe.
“What happened?”
She held out her phone.
A message from Ryan.
I need to tell you the truth about the pregnancy.
Everything inside me went cold.
Daniel appeared behind me.
“What?”
Lauren looked terrified.
“I don’t know.”
I stared at the message.
Then another arrived.
I was not the only possible father.
Lauren went white.
“What does that mean?”
She whispered, “I don’t know.”
I looked at her.
May you like
But her face told me she did.
And our family’s oldest habit—partial truth—had just returned on my wedding night.
