Afterward, we moved to the lakeshore for photos. It was golden hour, the light soft and glowing. The photographer, Clara, carefully arranged everyone. Aaron and I stood in the center. My mother was placed on one side, his parents on the other.
My mom leaned in to fix my veil as the breeze lifted it. She smiled at me and whispered, “You look exactly how I always imagined.”
I felt tears prick my eyes.
Behind us, I could see Patricia watching. She wasn’t smiling or relaxed. Her jaw was tight, and her gaze was fixed on my mother, not on me.
Then she laughed. It was a high, artificial sound that cut through the quiet.
“Oh, Linda!” she called. “Careful there. Your heel’s sinking into the mud.”
My mom glanced down instinctively, confusion flickering across her face.
That was when it happened.
Patricia’s hand shot forward and shoved my mother’s shoulder.
It was fast and deliberate.
