“You’re squeezing my hand pretty tight, Dad,” she whispered.

I loosened my grip at once.

“Sorry, honey,” I said.

The grand doors swung open, and every guest rose to their feet, and we began the slow walk down the aisle toward Timothy, who was watching Samantha come toward him with a look of complete devotion, a young man who seemed to understand everything she had survived without needing a word of it explained.

And then the officiant asked the question that is asked at every wedding, the old formal question: who gives this woman to be married.