I Flew Fourteen Hours To My Son’s Wedding Until His Bride Told Me I Never Mattered

on my kitchen floor at one in the morning zooming in on an elbow to determine whether it belonged to a Hartwell cousin.

I was not in a single photograph.

Joselyn’s mother Margot was in seventy-one of them. I counted. She did four solo portraits with the cake. The cake had better representation at that wedding than I did.

Then I found a clip of Bryce’s continue reading …