Wedding Day Part 2
Alicia’s dress is the first rebellion of the day. Instead of white, it’s the blue of summer mornings—soft, almost translucent, drifting around her in layers that catch the light and scatter it back in a hundred different directions. The skirt billows as she moves, a controlled explosion of tulle and luck, and every step is its own statement: I am here. I am doing this my way. Mark’s face, at the end of the aisle, is what undoes Rhonda. He’s not just happy; he’s obliterated, floored, staring like the world’s been rewritten right in front of him. His hand goes to his mouth, and for a second, he looks so young, so transparent, that Rhonda feels an ache she hasn’t let herself acknowledge in years. Alicia walks slow, head high, bouquet trembling only slightly. The crowd blurs behind her, a ha
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