Chapter 3: The Aisle Decision text
Camryn came out first, diamonds bright, smile replaced by the practical expression of a woman who had planned a timeline down to the minute.
“Diane, this is not the moment for old letters,” she said. “Trevor is upset. You’re making today about you.”
I stood so we were level.
“Today was already about who belongs in a chair,” I said. “I didn’t raise my voice. I walked away. His father asked that he read those words if I was ever asked to disappear for the sake of peace. He read them. What happens next is Trevor’s choice, not a scene I am staging on the steps.”
Trevor appeared behind her, letter in hand, eyes marked by a grief that had nothing to do with seating charts. For a moment he looked twenty again, the age when we had buried his father and he had sworn he would never become careless with the people who remained.
“I need ten minutes,” he told Camryn.
“We don’t have ten minutes.”
May you like
“Then the ceremony can wait ten minutes,” he said, and the controlled voice finally cracked toward something honest.
They stepped aside near the side entrance. I remained on the stone wall. I did not follow to argue my case. The letter was the case. A final wish does not require a mother’s performance to complete itself.
