Sarah helped Nora choose flowers and made endless lists, favorite songs, cake flavors, and how many dogs could theoretically be flower girls.
The three of us went dress shopping. Nora and Sarah spun before the mirrors, laughing at frilly sleeves.
“Dad, what about this one?” Sarah asked, striking a silly pose.
Nora said yes before I’d finished kneeling.
Nora winked at me. “She’s got style, Winston.”
That spring, our house buzzed with excitement and color-coded sticky notes.
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***
One Saturday, Nora burst into the kitchen with a stack of shopping bags, cheeks flushed. “Guess what! Abigail’s coming to the wedding! My sister finally booked her tickets. Isn’t that great?”
Sarah was at the table, coloring flowers in the margins of her math homework.
She looked up, her whole face lighting up. “Really? Maybe we can both throw petals?”
“Abigail should be the flower girl. Just her.”
Nora paused, glancing at her bags. “Actually, Sarah… I was thinking Abigail should be the flower girl. Just her.”
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Sarah’s pencil froze. “But… you said I could too.”
Nora crouched next to her, tone suddenly sweet but firm, like she was speaking to a toddler. “It’s Abigail’s first wedding, honey. She’ll remember it forever. You can help with the decorations, you’re so creative, after all.”
Sarah glanced at me, frowning.
“But… you said I could too.”
I started to say something, but Nora had already turned away, pulling out a pair of tiny white ballet flats for Abigail.
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That night at dinner, Sarah pushed her peas around her plate in silence.
I watched her, trying to catch her eye.
“You alright, honey?”
She shrugged and stared at her fork. “Am I in trouble, Dad?”
“Of course not. What makes you say that?”
“Am I in trouble, Dad?”
“Nora seemed mad when I asked about the flower girl thing,” she mumbled. “Did I do something wrong?”
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I squeezed my daughter’s hand. “No, kiddo. Sometimes grownups just get weird about weddings. I’ll talk to Nora.”
She gave a tiny smile. “Okay. Maybe I’ll help with the streamers instead.”
I tried to smile back, but something heavy settled in my chest and wouldn’t budge.
***
In the days that followed, I tried to talk to Nora. She was distracted, always texting or on the phone with her mother. I finally caught her in the kitchen, Abigail’s flower girl dress spread out on the counter.
“Did I do something wrong?”
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“Nora, Sarah’s really hurt. You promised she could be part of this.”
Nora didn’t meet my eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Abigail’s never been in a wedding. Let her have this.”
“She’s 12, Nora. She’s dreamed about this for ages.”
Nora’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not changing my mind.”
I felt my anger rising. “She’s my daughter.”
Nora put the dress back in the bag with a sigh. “And this is my celebration, Winston. I decide who gets to be in it.”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
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***
That night, Sarah made dinner with me. She insisted we make pasta from scratch, flour everywhere, sauce bubbling, and Sarah telling me about her favorite book series.
“Dad,” she said, “do you think Nora will like my card?”
She held up a handmade invitation: “To Nora, from your bonus daughter.”
I forced a smile. “She’ll love it.”
When Sarah went to bed, I sat on the porch steps, phone in hand.
“To Nora, from your bonus daughter.”
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I scrolled through old photos:
Sarah, as a toddler, had spaghetti sauce on her cheeks.
Sarah’s first Halloween.
Sarah and Nora were building gingerbread houses last Christmas.
What had changed?
***
Two days before the wedding, things hit a wall.
I was in the garage, pretending to fix Sarah’s bike, when Nora appeared in the doorway, arms folded tight.
Two days before the wedding, things hit a wall.
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“We need to talk,” she said quietly.
I wiped my hands on a rag. “About what?”
“I don’t think Sarah… fits.”
Something in me snapped. “What do you mean, she doesn’t fit? She’s my daughter, Nora.”
She sighed. “She doesn’t belong in the wedding. In fact… I don’t want her there at all.”
My jaw set. “You can’t be serious. She’s my family. She always has been.”
“She doesn’t belong in the wedding.”
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