While my bridesmaids helped me into my gown, carefully fastening each small button, Patricia walked into the room without knocking. She looked me up and down, then glanced at the group around me.
“Must be nice,” she said lightly, examining her nails, “to have everyone fuss over you like this. I did my own makeup on my wedding day. I didn’t need all the extra attention.”
My maid of honor shot me a warning look, and I chose to ignore the comment. I refused to let negativity touch that moment.
Later, Patricia saw my mother’s dress. It was a soft blue chiffon gown we had chosen together at a small boutique. It was elegant, understated, and perfect for her. Patricia leaned toward one of Aaron’s cousins and whispered loudly enough for several people to hear, “Interesting choice. Looks like someone’s trying to compete with the bride.”
A few awkward laughs followed. My stomach tightened, but I took a breath and let it go. I told myself it didn’t matter.
It mattered more than I knew.
The ceremony itself was beautiful. The lake was still, the sun warm but gentle. When I walked down the aisle and saw Aaron waiting for me, all my nerves disappeared. We exchanged vows with trembling voices, and when he kissed me, the applause echoed across the water.
For a brief moment, everything truly was perfect.
