Chapter 10 - The Anniversary Photograph
On our first wedding anniversary, I booked a haircut.
Alden found the appointment reminder on the kitchen calendar and looked at me carefully.
“Same style?”
“Shorter.”
He grinned.
“I support your campaign against buying shampoo.”
Nina laughed when I told her.
Then she turned my chair toward the mirror.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I want my ears to show.”
“An excellent artistic direction.”
The salon smelled of coffee and warm air. Rain tapped against the front windows.
For months after the wedding, the sound of scissors near my head had made my shoulders tighten.
It still happened sometimes.
Nina never rushed me.
She explained what she was doing, waited when I needed a moment, and let an ordinary appointment become ordinary again.
When she finished, I looked at the woman in the mirror.
Short dark hair.
Steady eyes.
A small silver earring catching the light.
I smiled before anyone asked me to.
That evening, Alden and I returned to the hotel where we had married.
I had expected the decision to feel dramatic.
It didn’t.
The building was simply a building.
There were people checking in, children arguing over an elevator button, and a man in the lobby trying to convince someone on the phone that he had definitely packed the charger.
Life had continued here.
It had continued for me too.
Simone met us near the restaurant.
She had remembered the date.
“I hoped I might see you,” she said.
I hugged her.
“You helped me more than you know.”
“You were very clear about what you needed.”
I laughed softly.
“That was new for me.”
“Well,” she said, stepping back, “you were good at it.”
We had invited a small group for dinner.
Tessa and her husband.
June and Peter.
Aunt Celia.
Two close friends who had stayed late after the wedding to make sure I was eating cake instead of answering messages.
My father was not there.
Earlier that week, he and I had gone for a walk and exchanged anniversary wishes.
He had asked whether I was having dinner with family.
I had said yes.
He had understood that the answer did not automatically include him.
Our relationship was growing slowly.
Some weeks it barely moved.
But it was no longer built entirely from my willingness to pretend.
Vesper and I had not resumed contact.
Her lawyer had conveyed that she continued meeting the conditions imposed in her case. Her letter remained in the drawer.
Perhaps there would be another chapter someday.
I no longer needed to decide that in advance.
At dinner, Peter raised his glass.
“To one year.”
June smiled at me.
“And many ordinary Tuesdays.”
Everyone laughed.
I understood the toast.
The wedding had been beautiful.
But marriage had become the mornings Alden left coffee beside my laptop.
The nights I noticed he was worried before he found the words.
The grocery lists.
The ridiculous arguments about how many towels two adults could reasonably use.
The quiet certainty that neither of us had to become smaller to keep the peace.
After dinner, Tessa handed me a small envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Something I should have given you months ago.”
Inside was a photograph from the bridal suite.
Not the floor.
Not the damage.
Nina had finished my hair. My veil was pinned in place. June stood behind me, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder.
I was looking into the mirror.
And smiling.
I stared at it.
Tessa leaned closer.
“I took it right after you said you were ready.”
I remembered the moment.
The fear hadn’t vanished.
The pain hadn’t vanished.
But I had looked at the door and known that everyone on the other side would have to wait until I chose to open it.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“So were you.”
Later, Alden and I stepped into the empty garden.
The chairs were gone.
The flowers were different.
The place where my father’s empty seat had stood was simply a patch of stone beneath the lights.
Alden held out his hand.
“Dance?”
“There’s no music.”
“We’ve survived worse technical problems.”
I laughed and stepped toward him.
We moved slowly beneath the strings of warm white lights.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he touched a curl near my temple.
“Any regrets?”
I considered the question carefully.
I regretted the pain.
I regretted how long I had mistaken endurance for love.
I regretted the years I had spent waiting for someone else to declare me worth protecting.
But I did not regret the door I had closed.
The wedding I had kept.
The life we had built afterward.
“None about us,” I said.
He kissed my forehead.
Inside, our people were laughing over dessert.
My phone was silent in my bag.
Tomorrow held no grand revelation. There would be laundry, a work meeting, and probably a debate about who had finished the good coffee.
I wanted all of it.
Before we left, Simone offered to take a photograph.
Alden stood beside me beneath the garden lights.
I lifted my chin.
This time, nobody had to tell me where to look.
May you like
I looked straight ahead.
And smiled."
