Bella Lisa stood in the historic Catholic Chapel in downtown Los Angeles in her wedding gown, with her Father, Marc Mauricio, standing proudly by her side. He had been released from the clinic for almost two weeks and never looked better. Her mother was in the front row and looked great as well. Raoul had very considerately decorated the wedding alter with hundreds of yellow roses, her favorite color. Mendelssohn’s Wedding March played. Everyone stood up and looked at her. As she slowly walked down the aisle with her Father, she was disoriented by the flashing bulbs. It was hard to believe her wedding was actually happening. She made brief eye contact with her Mother who was crying. Bella Lisa felt indifferent to the proceedings, but no one noticed under her placid smile. Her Father gave h
