“Glad you could make it.” Texas is giving my dad a squeeze. “I know you’ve been busy with the business lately.”
“We wouldn’t miss your wedding for anything in the world,” Mom points out, and I realize that it’s true.
It may not always have been the truth—not in the few years following Aubrey’s death—but my parents deserve a pass.
Hell, I got a pass.
Grace got a pass.
We’ve all been less than perfect.
Because at the end of the day, we are all just phoenixes, rising from our own ashes, taking flight to an unknown destination, our wingtips forged by flames.
The End.