By late afternoon, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my mother, going through last-minute details. She kept her eyes on her list more than on me, but she spoke politely enough. Dad came in and out, barely acknowledging me except to grunt when he passed the refrigerator. My brother, Kyle, scrolled his phone loudly, the way he always did when he wanted attention without earning it.

The atmosphere was stiff, like everyone was tiptoeing around something they weren’t saying. Still, I stayed hopeful. I’d spent most of my life hoping this family would meet me halfway.

Around six, I headed upstairs to check on my dresses. Yes, plural. I had four options hanging neatly in garment bags along one side of my childhood bedroom. A satin A-line, a lace mermaid style, a simple crepe gown, and a vintage one I’d bought from a boutique in Chesapeake. I wasn’t a princess-dress kind of woman, but I liked having choices, and David loved seeing me happy, so he encouraged it.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and old carpet, just like it always had. I remember unzipping the first garment bag just to look at the dress again, imagining how it would feel tomorrow morning when I put it on. I even laughed quietly to myself, feeling that soft flutter of excitement I’d thought was long gone.