I knew the hardest part of my wedding day would be getting through it without thinking about my late wife. Then, three minutes before I walked down the aisle, I realized my nine-year-old daughter wasn't in her seat. When I found her, she was sitting on the bathroom floor with a secret she'd been told not to share.
I was 36 and exhausted. Five years earlier, I had buried my wife, and after that, it was just my daughter, Juniper, and me left, learning to be a family of two.
She wasn't rude, just watchful, as if she were waiting for a joke.
Junie was nine years old and quiet, as if she saved her words for emergencies. She noticed everything, especially what adults tried to hide behind cheerful faces, but that didn't fool my daughter.
I didn't think I'd ever love again. Then Maribel came along and took the pressure off the world.
Maribel laughed easily and filled a room without even trying. She cooked for us, kissed me on the cheek in the kitchen, and called Juniper "sweet pea" as if it were a spell. People told me I looked thinner, and I wanted it to be true.
Juniper wasn't as enthusiastic as everyone had promised. She wasn't rude, just attentive, as if she were expecting a joke. When Maribel got too close, Junie's shoulders tensed.
The guests hugged me and said, "She would have wanted this."
"Give her time," I told myself. "She's adjusting." Maribel always nodded.
"Junie is protective," Maribel once said, smiling. "It's quite sweet."
Juniper didn't laugh. She stared at Maribel's shoes.
The wedding day arrived bright and noisy. Chairs lined our backyard, white strings of lights hung between the trees, and there were flowers on almost every seat. Guests hugged me and said, "She would have wanted this," and I swallowed my sadness.
My brother patted me on the shoulder. "You're doing it, man," he said. "A new chapter."
Have you seen Junie?
"Yes," I said. "A new chapter."
Juniper wore a pale floral dress and the serious face she reserved for dentist appointments. She sat in the front row during the photos and then moved away when the adults got noisy. I guessed she was near the kitchen, stealing cookies.
Three minutes before she reached the altar, her seat was empty. It wasn't to go to the bathroom, but to leave. I felt a tightness in my chest.
I turned to my brother. "Have you seen Junie?"
