That absence cut deeper than I expected.
Still, I stayed steady.
The night before the ceremony, my grandmother—the only person who had ever truly defended me—called.
“Emily,” she asked gently, “are you sure you’re ready for whatever tomorrow brings?”
“I am,” I replied. “For the first time in my life.”
The wedding morning dawned bright and clear. The cathedral shimmered with silver accents, luxury cars, and guests dressed like magazine spreads. Everyone waited for the flawless bride.
They had no idea I was coming.
As the ceremony began, the priest’s voice echoed through the hall:
“If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold their peace.”
My heart raced.
This was it—the culmination of everything I’d carried and prepared.
I stepped forward and pushed open the cathedral doors.
Every head turned.
Silence fell as I walked down the center aisle. My heels struck the marble, louder than the organ had been moments before. I wore a fitted emerald dress, hair swept back, posture tall. Months of physical and emotional work had changed me—not into someone new, but into the woman I should always have been allowed to be.
I felt eyes on me—curious, impressed, whispering—but I watched only Allison.
