Chapter 5 - The Canceled Ceremony And The Photograph
Lenora stood beside the altar, still wearing the dress chosen for a future that no longer existed.
Her bouquet rested on a chair.
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she said quietly:
“I did care about you.”
I wanted to believe her.
That was probably the hardest part.
“Maybe you did,” I said. “But caring about someone and planning around his vulnerability are very different things.”
Her face changed.
The warm expression I had known disappeared.
“Do you know why this worked for so long?” she asked. “Because you wanted to believe it. You were lonely, Warren. All I had to do was listen.”
A few people gasped.
I did not.
Oddly, hearing her admit it gave me peace.
“You’re right about one thing. I was lonely. But trusting someone is not the same thing as giving them permanent permission to deceive you.”
Lenora picked up her purse.
“This isn’t over.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t. From here, everything gets handled properly.”
She left through the side entrance.
Travis followed several minutes later after speaking with his attorney.
No one applauded.
I was grateful for that.
This was not a victory party.
It was a family realizing how badly trust had been damaged.
I faced the guests.
“There will be no wedding today. I appreciate every person who traveled to be here, but my family needs something different from this day now.”
The reception meal had already been prepared, so we arranged for much of it to be donated to several local community organizations.
The flowers remained in the garden.
Rosalind looked at them and said:
“Flowers didn’t do anything wrong.”
For the first time that day, I laughed.
That night, after the guests were gone, I climbed into the storage room above the garage.
Behind several boxes, I found the framed photograph of Diane that Lenora had removed months earlier.
It was from our thirtieth anniversary.
Diane was laughing.
I was looking at her instead of the camera.
I sat on the floor holding that photograph for a long time.
I had convinced myself that moving forward meant clearing away the past.
It did not.
Moving forward meant learning to carry love without allowing grief to make decisions for me.
I returned the photograph to the staircase.
When I came down, Paige was sitting at the kitchen island.
Caleb was asleep on the couch.
I sat beside her.
“What do you want to do now?”
She thought for a moment.
“I want to separate legally. I want professional support. I want to work again. And I want time to figure out who I am without someone constantly telling me what I’m allowed to feel.”
Old Warren would have immediately said, “I’ll fix everything.”
Instead I asked:
“What do you need from me?”
Paige looked surprised.
Then she smiled faintly.
“Don’t fix my life for me. Just stay close.”
May you like
I nodded.
“I can do that.”
