A few seconds later, Lina joined Ryan beneath the flower arch.
There was an empty space beside them where Amelia had apparently been meant to stand.
There was an empty space beside them where Amelia had apparently been meant to stand.
Ryan stared at it longer than he looked at the camera.
Then we left.
In the car, Amelia held the candle across her knees.
I glanced at it.
“Want me to throw that thing away?”
“No, Mom.”
“Okay.”
She ran one finger along the smooth white wax.
“It’s mine.”
“Want me to throw that thing away?”
That answer made more sense than anything the adults had said all day.
When we got home, her younger siblings attacked her with questions.
“Was the cake huge?”
“Did Dad cry?”
“Was Aunt Lina wearing a crown?”
Amelia finally laughed.
“No crown, idiot.”
“Did Dad cry?”
Within 10 minutes she was back in pajamas, stealing fries from her brother’s plate while he yelled that she had her own.
The candle sat on the kitchen table.
I picked it up.
“Where do you want this?”
Amelia thought for a moment, then pointed toward the windowsill.
“There.”
“Where do you want this?”
I set it down.
Not lit.
Not thrown away.
Just where she had chosen.
My phone buzzed.
Ryan.
I expected anger.
Instead, his message said:
“Tell Amelia I’m sorry I made her feel like she had to prove she was okay.”
Then another arrived.
“Tell Amelia I’m sorry I made her feel like she had to prove she was okay.”
“And Annie… I think I’ve spent a long time asking everyone else to be okay with choices I made.”
I read it twice.
Then locked my phone.
I didn’t owe him an answer.
Across the kitchen, Amelia snatched another fry.
“AMELIA!”
“They were on my side, Peter!”
I didn’t owe him an answer.
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Four children argued around my table while that tiny wedding candle sat unnoticed on the windowsill.
Ryan had changed the shape of our family.
He had never earned the right to decide whether it still existed.
Ryan had changed the shape of our family.
