The ceremony lasted twelve minutes.
Treatment had not begun yet, and we tried not to count all our meals as last meals.
On the morning of the wedding, I asked him one last time, "Are we doing this because we're scared?"
He squeezed my fingers.
"We're doing it because we're scared and because I love you."
"Okay."
The ceremony lasted twelve minutes. I remember because my brother timed it and whispered, "Efficient," when we signed the papers.
Nathan laughed.
His smile vanished so completely that my stomach dropped.
I did too.
Then the officiant pronounced us husband and wife.
Everyone clapped.
I turned toward Nathan expecting relief.
Instead, his expression changed.
His smile vanished so completely that my stomach dropped.
He took my hand and leaned close enough that no one else could hear.
The room seemed to shrink around me.
"Now I can finally tell you the truth."
My fingers went cold.
