48
LEONARDO VILLAR
Laura marries before her sister.
At twenty-six.
A pediatrician she met during residency.
I am not kind the first time we meet.
I improve.
At the wedding, I walk her halfway down the aisle.
She stops.
“I’m going the rest alone.”
My chest tightens.
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
That should be enough.
Olívia taught me that.
I kiss her forehead.
“I’ll be right there.”
“I know.”
Laura continues.
It is not abandonment.
It is choice.
I sit beside Olívia.
“You okay?” she asks.
“No.”
“Want to stop it?”
“Very much.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
She takes my hand.
During the reception, Manuela dances with Caio, the boy with the flowers, now a cardiologist and her husband of three years.
Our family fills the dance floor.
Marta is no longer with us.
She died at eighty-two, surrounded by everyone she loved.
álvaro followed two years later.
Absence exists.
It does not destroy what they left behind.
Olívia rests her head on my shoulder.
“We did this.”
“You did first.”
“We continued.”
Laura throws the bouquet.
A small girl catches it.
Our granddaughter.
Manuela’s daughter.
Four-year-old Helena lifts the flowers over her head.
“I’m getting married tomorrow!”
Everyone laughs.
I look at Olívia.
Time passed.
I can still see her in blue before a judge.
Still see her in white in the cathedral.
Now I see every version at once.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“Your face.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You look in love.”
“I am.”
“After all these years?”
“It can increase.”
She smiles.
“That line is ancient.”
“Still works.”