That was the thing.

She was not a guest at the edge of her father’s new life; she was in it, walking the aisle, carrying the basket, one of the two people the whole day was supposed to be about.

On the morning of the wedding, I saw Brenda compliment Hannah’s dress and kiss the top of her head, and my heart lifted at the sight of it, this woman being gentle with my girl on the biggest day either of us had known in years.

At least, that was what I saw, with my own eyes, in the bright hopeful light of that morning.