I walked.
The aisle was shorter than it had looked in rehearsal. Flowers. Faces. Mom crying in the pretty way. The groom waiting like a man who had practiced being gentle. Roman stood in the groomsmen line with his hands folded and his eyes on the officiant, and I felt every step of last night and this morning smear between my thighs under the pale dress.
I did not look at him.
I looked at the bouquet until my hands ached.
They said the words. Love. Family. Forever. Someone read a poem I would not remember. When they kissed, the room made the sound rooms make, and I smiled with my mouth closed because if I opened it I might have said his name.
We signed.
I was a witness. My name went under my mother’s new one. Roman’s name went under his father’s. The pen was heavy. Our hands did not
