Chapter 7 - The Dying Woman’s Wedding
At two o'clock that afternoon, the small white chapel at the edge of Silver Creek was filled with sunlight. Stained-glass windows cast patches of ruby red and sapphire blue across the wooden pews.
The ceremony was small, elegant, and quiet. Emma looked breathtaking in her lace wedding dress, walking down the aisle on Henry’s arm. But the true heart of the service sat in the front row.
Margaret Carter sat in a wheelchair, draped in a soft cashmere shawl that Dominic had arranged to be delivered from the city that morning. Beside her stood Dominic, wearing a sharp dark suit, holding Lily on his hip so she could see the alter. Sophia stood on Margaret’s other side, her hand resting tenderly on her mother’s shoulder.
When Emma and her new husband exchanged their vows, Margaret reached out, taking Dominic’s free hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze, looking up at him with eyes full of gratitude. Dominic looked down, nodding once—reaffirming the silent vow they shared.
The reception was held in the small church hall adjacent to the chapel. Friends, neighbors, and local farmers gathered around tables laden with homemade pies, roasted meats, and fresh flowers.
Dominic spent the afternoon navigating small-town conversations with unexpected grace. He listened politely to local farmers discussing wheat prices, helped Henry move heavy wooden benches, and danced a slow, gentle dance with Margaret while she sat in her wheelchair, making her laugh until tears ran down her face.
By seven o'clock, the sun was setting, painting the sky in deep shades of purple and gold.
Sophia stood near the edge of the church lawn, watching Dominic teach Lily how to play a ring-toss game with some of the local children. He looked so natural, so grounded, that it was almost impossible to reconcile him with the terrifying mafia boss who had crushed Jason Miller’s wrist a few hours earlier.
"He's a keeper, Soph."
Sophia turned to see Emma standing beside her, holding a glass of sparkling cider.
"He's complicated, Em," Sophia whispered softly.
"Life is complicated," Emma countered, wrapping her arm around her sister's waist. "Look at him, Sophia. He hasn't taken his eyes off you or Lily all day. Dad looks like he wants to adopt him, and Mama hasn't smiled like this in three years. Whatever brought him into your life, don't let your fear push him away."
Sophia looked back at Dominic. As if sensing her gaze, he turned his head, his dark eyes finding hers across the crowded lawn. He smiled—that rare, devastatingly genuine smile reserved only for her—and began walking toward her, holding Lily’s small hand in his.
"It's time, Sophia," Dominic said softly as he reached her. "Your mother is getting tired. We should get her home."
When they returned to the farmhouse, the household was quiet. Henry helped Margaret into bed, tucking her in with extraordinary tenderness.
Dominic and Sophia sat with her in the dim room until her breathing became slow, deep, and rhythmic.
As they stepped out into the quiet hallway, Margaret called out weakly. "Dominic?"
Dominic stepped back into the room. "Yes, ma'am?"
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"Thank you... for giving me my final wish," she whispered, her voice fading into sleep. "Take care of my girls."
"Always, Margaret," Dominic replied quietly. "Always."
