"It's time, Nita," my dad whispered. He reached for my hand, steadying me.
The hush that fell over the church as the music swelled was almost overwhelming. Every eye turned toward me. My pulse thundered in my ears as I stepped forward. My gaze stayed on Richard, and with every footfall I reminded myself: You can do this, Nita. You've made it this far. Don't collapse now.
Richard's eyes never left mine. There was no mockery in his expression, none of the smug teasing that usually colored our interactions. Just quiet reassurance. My chest loosened, my trembling eased. This was actually happening. After weeks of second-guessing myself, after restless nights wondering what marrying Richard meant for me, for us, for everything—I was here. At the altar. With him.
