“Then Amelia asked why Aunt Lina didn’t have to support you.”
I stared at the floor.
My nine-year-old daughter had taken the exact argument my mother had used against me for months and turned it back on them.
Family supports family.
Apparently Amelia had simply wondered why that rule seemed to apply only to me.
But Nora wasn’t finished.
“Then Amelia picked up her candle instead of lighting it.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Ryan said they needed it to finish the ceremony. Amelia told him, ‘It belongs to me,’ and walked out.”
I stood immediately.
“Where is she?”
“The garden bench. Ryan went after her.”
—
I pushed through the doors leading outside.
Amelia sat alone on a bench holding the white candle in both hands.
Ryan was beside her.
He still wore his suit jacket.
The bright flower pinned to his lapel looked almost ridiculous considering the expression on his face.
Neither noticed me at first.
“You told me you understood the candle,” Ryan said softly.
Amelia stared down at it.
“No, Dad. You asked if I understood what it meant.”
Ryan frowned.
“That’s different.”
