On the Morning of My Son’s Wedding, Our Family Driver Locked Me in the Trunk and Covered Me With a Blanket

himself, to the empty air around him.

Who was that? What aren’t you telling me?

I stayed silent. Frozen. Listening.

Then came the words that told me everything:

“Let’s get to the church. I need to marry Natasha. Everything will be fine once I marry her.”

Once I marry her. Like marriage was a finish line. A solution. A way to make something stop.

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