The one year anniversary of their wedding arrived on a Wednesday, which was an entirely ordinary day in the way that all the most significant dates insist on being.
Claire remembered this time last year the way you remember something you survived rather than something you planned. The borrowed dress. The bathroom mirror. Her mother's hands gripping hers too hard. The altar and those four words that had lodged themselves somewhere permanent in her chest before she had even learned to spell his name in her own handwriting.
She had not planned anything for the anniversary. Neither had Nathaniel, as far as she knew, and this had been its own small confirmation of how well she had come to understand him, because the Nathaniel of a year ago would have had James arrange something formal and exp
