Reverend Pritchard cleared his throat as if he could cough up mercy. “We are gathered here today…”
His words fell flat. The congregation didn’t smile. They didn’t coo. They didn’t soften the way people did at weddings where love had been invited.
This wasn’t a blessing. It was a collection.
In the front pew, Clara’s brother Mark sat with his arms crossed, satisfied as a man watching a debt finally come due. Beside him, Judith held a lace fan to her lips and let out a little giggle that made Clara’s stomach knot.
Then the church door opened.
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