Sophia
We decided on a small wedding, intimate and meaningful rather than grand, held right on the street that had fought so hard to protect everything we both held dear. Marisol organized the logistics with the same enthusiastic efficiency she brought to every community gathering, while Emma and Sarah handled decorations, transforming the closed off street into something breathtaking, string lights woven between buildings, soft white flowers from Sarah’s shop lining every available surface.
The morning of the wedding, I stood in the Rosalind Room, dressed in my grandmother’s own wedding gown, carefully preserved and altered slightly to fit me properly, staring at my reflection in the small mirror Marisol had set up.
“You look beautiful,” Marisol said softly, adjusting the delicate veil
