on my workbench.
Three days before my wedding, I was standing alone in a flower shop I had built from nothing while my father explained that he cared about me very much but not enough to disappoint my sister.
“I don’t think that,” I said.
It was the kindest lie I could manage.
Then I ended the call.
I finished centerpiece number fourteen.
My hands never shook.
I almost wished they had.
Shaking would have meant I was surprised.
The truth was, some part of me had been preparing for
