It wasn’t a procession; it was a march. Lonely. Determined. Defiant.
I could feel the eyes of every guest on me. I saw their polite smiles freeze, their heads tilt in confusion, and then—the worst thing of all—pity. I saw it bloom across their faces like a stain. I saw the whispers start behind cupped hands, fans lifting to mouths, heads leaning together.continue reading …
