Morris's POV
The moment had finally arrived. Walking down the aisle with Paula on my arm, I couldn't help but marvel at Monica's impeccable attention to detail. Rustic wooden and wrought iron garden benches lined the pathway for our guests, while enormous vases overflowing with vibrant tulips adorned the entrance. The altar itself was a vision—a handcrafted wooden table positioned beneath a portico draped with flowing white fabric and accented with more tulips.
When I reached the front, my eyes fell upon the first bench where two silver-framed photographs rested—one of my father, one of my mother—each with a pristine white tulip placed carefully before them. My throat tightened. Monica had found a way to ensure my parents were present on this monumental day, represented for everyone to acknowledge. Paula took her seat beside the photographs, and emotion surged through me.
