The Chosen Bride
“You just arrived earlier.”
Mabel snorted. “If you’re all finished posturing, eat before the children do.”
That earned her immediate obedience.
Dinner unfolded the way it always did now—slow, overlapping conversations, children interrupting freely, stories retold with embellishments that grew more dramatic every year. Someone mentioned a business expansion overseas. Someone else mentioned a school recital. The world, it seemed, had narrowed into manageable, human-sized concerns.
At one point, Vivianna climbed into my lap and whispered, conspiratorially, “Zia Elena says I can help at the wedding party next time.”