The Wedding That Didn't Happen
Chapter 02 - The Wedding That Didn't Happen
The guests were moved into the reception room with coffee, champagne, and no answers.
Claire refused all three.
She stood alone in a small bridal suite at the end of the hall, staring at herself in a mirror she no longer recognized. She had imagined this room filled with laughter. She had imagined changing shoes here after dancing too long. She had imagined Daniel coming to find her because he always came to find her.
Instead, there was a knock.
"Claire."
His voice.
She did not answer.
The door opened slowly anyway.
Daniel stepped inside and stopped several feet away.
"I should have told you."
"That's not a beginning, Daniel."
"I found the photograph six months ago."
Claire turned.
Six months.
They had spent six months choosing flowers. Six months arguing about whether they needed a live band. Six months talking about children, mortgages, and growing old somewhere with a porch.
And all that time, he had known.
"Where?"
"In my father's desk. There was a false bottom in one of the drawers."
Claire laughed again, but there was nothing amused in it.
"Of course there was."
"I asked my mother about it."
"And?"
"She told me to leave it alone."
Claire looked toward the closed door.
"That sounds like Evelyn."
Daniel flinched.
"She said your mother and my father knew each other before we were born."
"That is not what I asked."
"I don't know if my father was your father."
The sentence landed between them like broken glass.
Claire pressed one hand against the table.
Daniel took a step toward her.
She lifted her palm.
"Don't."
He stopped.
"My mother died when I was nineteen," Claire said. "She told me my father left before I was born. She never gave me a name. Never showed me a picture. Never told me there was anyone who helped her. And today I find a photograph of your father holding me the week I was born."
"Claire—"
"And you knew."
"I was afraid."
"So was I. I just didn't know I was supposed to be."
The door opened behind him.
Evelyn stood there, pale and trembling.
"I can explain part of it."
Claire looked at her.
"Part?"
Evelyn's eyes filled, but she did not cry.
"Thomas was not your father."
Daniel exhaled.
Claire did not.
Because Evelyn was still holding something in her hand.
A small envelope, yellowed with age.
Claire recognized her mother's handwriting before Evelyn said a word.
Across the front were five words.
For Claire, when she is ready.
May you like
Evelyn looked at her.
"Your mother gave this to me thirty-two years ago."
