“Do you regret continuing the ceremony?” he asked.
I looked toward the aisle Vivian had stormed down, then at the doors that had closed behind her.
“No.”
That day had not become the wedding I dreamed about as a child.
It became something more honest.
I had entered the cathedral afraid that illness had made me smaller.
I left knowing that cruelty could expose my body without defining me, that love could remain steady under humiliation, and that evidence carried quietly was stronger than power performed loudly.
Vivian tried to turn my illness into a weapon.
In doing so, she revealed exactly how frightened she was of the truth I already held.
She thought she had ruined my future when she tore off my wig.
All she had done was make certain that everyone was watching when her own began to collapse.
