“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.
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.
