Strings of soft lights between the wooden beams.

An arbor at the front decorated with wildflowers, the whole valley opening up behind it.

It was a beautiful place for a beginning.

Hannah had thrown herself into it with her whole nine-year-old heart.

She had spent weeks choosing her dress, a pale-blue thing she loved, and she practiced her steps up and down our living room in the evenings, scattering imaginary petals, because she was worried that her own excitement would make her drop the real ones before she reached the front.

She was going to be part of it.