AMY POV

I had never imagined a wedding for myself, not really. Growing up in a house full of shattered plates and slammed doors hadn't left much room for dreaming about white dresses and flower arrangements, hadn't left room for dreaming about much of anything beyond getting through each day without becoming collateral damage in someone else's anger. But standing in front of the mirror in the back room of the chapel, watching Loretta fuss over the last few pins in my hair, I realized I'd been dreaming about this without knowing it — not the dress, not the flowers, but this exact feeling, the one where my chest felt...