“Those were Mom’s,” I told her.
“Your mom loved projects,” Corrine replied loudly. “But she made this yard, and this family, hard to live in. We’re fixing that.”
I was still wearing black when the chairs were set up.
My father — Charles — stood at the altar looking reborn. Relaxed. Smiling. Happy.
Guests whispered to me afterward:
“At least he’s not alone, darling.”
“God brings comfort in surprising ways.”
An hour before the ceremony, Corrine cornered me in the kitchen. She held out her hand so the diamond could catch the light.
“You should be grateful. Your dad needs someone.”
