In the spring of the following year, I hosted my 100th wedding.
The bride that day was Mary, a nurse at my dad's dialysis center. Over 3 years, she'd given him hundreds of injections, and she'd never missed a vein once.
At the wedding, she grabbed my hand and said, "Camille, you have to be happy too, okay?"
I smiled and told her I would be.
When the wedding wrapped up, Mary tossed her bridal bouquet straight at me with a whoosh.
I caught it, and the whole room erupted in hoots and playful teasing.
Clutching that bouquet on the stage, out of nowhere, I flashed back to 3 years prior, the day I'd officially married Franklin. There was no wedding, no bouquet, just a marriage agreement, and a man who hadn't even glanced up at me when he signed his name.
Back then, I'd told myself it was
