The week blurred past me like water slipping through my hands. Outings, luncheons, staged dinners, every moment felt scripted. By the time the wedding morning came, I no longer remembered what quiet felt like.

I sat in front of the mirror, my reflection painted into someone I barely knew. The brush slid across my cheek, the makeup artist humming softly. Outside the walls, I could hear movement, voices, and the sound of my father’s laugh louder than I’d heard in years. He was alive with ...