The empty chairs
My stylist gently adjusted my veil, her eyes avoiding mine in the vanity mirror. She tried to make small talk about the weather, but the tension in the room was palpable.
I barely heard her, my gaze fixed on the empty chairs in the corner reserved for my family. My mother’s makeup bag sat unopened on the table, a stark reminder of her broken promise.
The time for photos was approaching fast, and I was still completely alone.