Della stepped out of the beauty parlor and the brightness of the day hit her like a wave. White fabric. Soft voices. Music in the distance. People moving everywhere—smiling, adjusting, waiting for the moment she would become someone’s wife.
But Della’s mind didn’t feel like it belonged to this crowd.
It kept drifting back into fog.
Along the way, Ethan’s eyes looked straight through her. She walked with her chin lifted, as her mother taught her—like a bride was supposed to move through the world. Like everything was fine.
Inside, everything was not fine.
Linda hovered close, calm on the outside, watchful in a way Della trusted. Lucy—her mother—had already done her best to hold the day together, but even Lucy looked tired, stretched thin between love and responsibility. Della’s bouquet
