Nathan, on the other hand, had resumed rehearsals without waiting. His uncle surprised him in the upstairs corridor, one arm outstretched, counting his steps seriously. He even took care to call the priest to find out precisely his role at the altar. When his relatives were worried, Nathan would answer them with calm assurance: "I have practiced."
The words that hurt, also engraved forever
Everyone around them was affected. Daniel, the bridegroom, thought it was magnificent. Sarah's mother was crying with joy. Then came this dinner, three weeks before the wedding.
The mother-in-law put her fork down. She wanted to know if Nathan would accompany Sarah. The answer was yes — and she smiled, a smile that didn't warm anything.
She said that he was obviously welcome. But that a presence in the ceremony was not essential. That the photos would remain everywhere for decades — the album, the framed enlargements above the fireplace. That his face would appear in every photograph for forty years.
