The thin mesh veil couldn’t mask my hot tears of shame. The wedding march ricocheted in my chest like a funeral dirge as Dad walked me down the aisle towards my happily ever after.
As I approached my future husband, I searched his eyes for any hint of hesitation. I took his hand. Dad sat down. We turned to face the pastor ready to pledge our lives to each other in front of hundreds of people.
I didn’t believe my future husband wanted to marry me.
Earlier in the day as my sister had applied my make-up and put up my hair, I’d feared he wouldn’t come.
I thought back to earlier in the week when Dad had asked me—with a smile—if I was sure I wanted to get married. His question was disguised as a joke. I knew his joke was grounded in truth.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. And it was shrouded in doubt, embarrassment, and shame.