The sound of someone recognizing a gift too late to refuse it.
The first lock of my hair slid down the front of my dress.
By the time we finished, the polished bride and groom from the invitations were gone.
In their place stood two people with bare heads, wedding rings, and no place left to hide.
I took the microphone.
For a moment, all I could hear was the soft hum of the speakers.
In their place stood two people with bare heads.
Then I looked at Maribel.
“Most brides use their toast to thank the people who made the wedding beautiful,” I said.
A few guests wiped at their eyes already.
“I need to thank the woman who taught my husband what love looks like before I ever met him.”
Maribel shook her head once.
Tiny.
Almost pleading.
