Margot spent all morning asking when she could stand beside her father for wedding pictures. Then I found her alone outside the bridal suite, twisting the pink ribbon on her flower basket. What she told me changed the meaning of every smiling photograph Claire had posed for beside her for two years.
“Grandpa, do I stand next to Daddy or Claire?”
Margot had asked me the same question three times.
“Probably both, sweetheart.”
“Good.”
“Grandpa, do I stand next to Daddy or Claire?”
She adjusted her pink flower-girl dress and peered toward the photographer.
“I’m going to smile with all my teeth.”
“You only have twenty of them!”
“I know. That’s all of them.”
I laughed.
“I’m going to smile with all my teeth.”
Across the room, Claire was having her makeup touched up.
Margot hurried toward her holding a rose petal.
“Claire! Look. It’s shaped like a heart.”
“Not now, honey.”
Margot stopped.
Across the room, Claire was having her makeup touched up.
Then the photographer entered.
Claire immediately looked over.
“Margot, come here.”
My granddaughter ran back.
Claire fixed the bow in her hair, bent beside her, and smiled as the camera clicked.
Then the photographer entered.
“Beautiful,” the photographer said.
Margot beamed.
I didn’t think anything of it.
Why would I?
For two years, Claire had seemed good with her.
Not perfect. Nobody is.
Claire had seemed good with her.
But there were Christmas pictures in matching pajamas, birthday parties, trips to the zoo, and dozens of photographs where Claire had one arm around Margot.
That mattered to me.
***
By 68, I’d already buried my wife and my only daughter.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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