Chapter 18
Sabrina married again at thirty-one.
Not Logan.
A social worker named Aaron who had kind eyes and washed his own dishes.
Before accepting his proposal, she brought him to the workshop.
“I need you to meet my dad properly,” she said.
Aaron shook my hand.
His palm was callused.
Good sign.
He said, “Sabrina told me what happened.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He looked at her.
“I think she became honest the hard way. I respect that. I also know respect has to continue.”
I liked him.
But I still checked his background.
Thoroughly.
Sabrina approved.
“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
Their wedding was held at the Bayfront Pavilion.
Small.
Bright.
No gold pretending to be love.
She asked if I would walk her down the aisle.
I said, “Are you sure?”
She cried before answering.
“I should have asked the first time.”
On the morning of the wedding, she came to my workshop.
I was wearing the rebuilt patchwork jacket.
She touched the sleeve.
“You made this from the suit Mom cut.”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It took time.”
“So did we.”
At the aisle, she held my arm tightly.
No Raymond.
No Victoria.
No shame.
When the officiant asked who presented her, Sabrina answered before I could.
“My father walks with me. I present myself.”
The guests laughed softly.
I cried.
Aaron cried.
May you like
Sabrina smiled.
This time, nobody disappeared.
