Chapter 4
My father hated the idea at first.
He stood in the living room with both hands on his hips, staring at Nathan like he was a salesman trying to steal the silver.
“You’re telling me,” Dad said slowly, “that this man is being paid to marry you.”
“Symbolically,” I said.
“That does not make me feel better.”
Nathan stayed calm.
“I understand.”
Dad turned on him.
“Do you?”
Nathan did not flinch.
“No, sir. Not fully. But I understand enough to know this is her choice.”
That silenced my father.
Very few people had been saying that lately.
Everyone loved me, but love had started sounding like instructions.
Rest.
Don’t push yourself.
Maybe cancel.
Maybe keep it small.
Maybe wait.
Maybe accept reality.
Nathan was the only one who asked, “What do you want?”
So the wedding went forward.
Smaller now.
Not 120 guests.
Twenty-eight.
Close family. A few friends. My doctor cleared me for a short outdoor ceremony if I used my walker, oxygen, and rested afterward.
No hospital.
No dramatic collapse.
No tragedy staged for an audience.
Just a garden.
Late afternoon light.
White flowers.
Green trees moving softly in the breeze.
And a groom who was supposed to be pretending.
Evan called twice the night before.
I did not answer.
Then he sent a message.
I heard you’re still doing the wedding. Clara, this is unhealthy.
I stared at the screen.
Unhealthy.
As if leaving me in my kitchen with a suitcase by the door had been an act of wellness.
Nathan saw the message when I placed my phone face down.
“Old fiancé?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want him there?”
May you like
“No.”
But Evan came anyway.
