Arabella

I walked out of the church as a married woman.

The sun hit my face, too bright, and I squinted my eyes. People were cheering, clapping, and smiling around us. I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t even feel my face.

Marco’s arm curled around my waist. He kissed my cheek, my hand, my ring, as if he too couldn’t believe we were married.

Grandmother beamed with smiles, fussing over me, “Congratulations, bambina mia (my child),” she said tenderly.

But I didn’t feel excited; I felt numb. Tears were already slipping from the corners of my eyes. Everyone probably assumed they were tears of joy. Only I knew the truth—they were...