For six months, she’d practiced walking me down the aisle.
She’d even worn her new shoes around the house to avoid stumbling.
I assumed she was nervous.
Then she revealed what my fiancé had told her.
Suddenly, I understood why she’d been unusually quiet all morning.
My name is Paige. I’m thirty-eight, and until that Saturday, I believed I was marrying someone who loved both my daughter and me.
I found June sitting quietly on a chair in the bridal suite.
Her lavender dress was neatly draped over its back.
Continue on the next page:
