Loving my Father’s Wife
He closed his fingers around hers and pulled her closer, far closer than protocol required, until she could feel the solid weight of him at her side.
The priest began to speak.
His voice droned on, low and even, rising and falling with practiced cadence. The words washed over Mary without meaning. Honor. Obey. Cherish. They sounded hollow, stripped of truth by the context in which they were spoken. Each word felt like a lie uttered beneath a vaulted ceiling that had heard far too many like it.
“Do you, Arthur Sterling, take this woman—”
“I do.”
Arthur didn’t hesitate. His voice was loud, booming, filling the cathedral and bouncing off the stone walls. There was triumph in it. Certainty. Appl
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