If anything had been done behind my back let me find out before the exchanging of the rings.

Don’t embarrass me, Lord. I have been through a lot. I didn’t want to turn out to be like my mother.

Keep us in good health.

Amen.

I opened my eyes and Chandra, disgruntled, stared me right in the face.

I jumped out of my skin, startled.

My heart dropped.

She was heartbroken. “Chandra? Talk to me.”

I grabbed her arms, holding on to my bouquet. It cost over three hundred dollars to make; I couldn’t afford it to get messed up.

“Oh my God, your skin feels cold. You’re shaking. What did your man do to you?”

She was standoffish, a little nervous. I never saw her like this before. I knew something was wrong.

What did her man do to her?

I would kill that man, for real!

“Nothing.”

I was searching her face. “Did he hit you?”

She was trying to get away from me.

“No.”

She knew I knew she was lying. She was a terrible liar. My eyes danced all over her body. She looked frail.

“What’s wrong, girl, talk to me. I’m your sister. Your best friend.”

She was stuttering. “It’s hard.”

“Make it easier by opening your fat trap.”

She became fire. “Please, don’t make me go there.”

I became the gahdamn flames. “Go there, let me pack some bags and we can have a picnic when we arrive.”

She smiled so beautifully. I wiped the tears from her face like a big sister.

“You always make me smile.”

Now we’re getting somewhere! “That’s what I’m here for.”

“I know, but I can’t tell you…”

“Please, I’m about to get married. To that man behind you, well a hundred feet behind you.”

Her eyes grew dark. I knew that look. When somebody crossed me she got defensive and now I was not only worried but I knew something had
gone down she didn’t want me to know about.

She said, “I just want you happy, Francine. I always want you happy. But I can’t live with myself. I can’t do it. I can’t look you in the eyes. I can’t form the words. I can’t hurt you. I’ll die. I’ll slit my wrists. I had no choice. I was forced to do it. I had no other option.”

She smelled great; I loved the White
Diamonds perfume. My fiancé bought it for her and she’d been wearing it ever since. I studied her arms really well, my blood turning cold. “Are you doing heroine while you’re pregnant?”

She shook. I held her, holding her tightly to me. My wedding could wait. My girl didn’t do drugs. She never did drugs in her life. She didn’t even drink.

Her lungs were fleshy and red. Not
black. Something wasn’t right. Oh, God! How fast were you acting to show me a picture that I wasn’t seeing?

I knew heroine marks when I saw them. There were a lot of addicts in my family, smoking and basing any and everything under the glorious
sun.

“Yes, I’m doing drugs.”

I was appalled. “DRUGS?” I looked around to make sure no one was listening to us.

She looked wild-eyed. “I was forced.”

This was absurd. “Yea, somebody put a gun to your head…”

“And to my stomach.”