Evangeline

One year later.

The satin of my wedding dress pools around me. My mother's hands linger at my shoulder, smoothing the lace that doesn't need to be smoothed. I raise my eyes to the mirror and catch her gaze, filled with pride and joy, yet glassy. 

With an exhale of a breath, I place a hand over hers on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “I'm not moving away, Mama…” I whisper. 

“I know, baby,” she hushes. Her throat bobs on the swallow. “I'm just… happy and proud of you ...