Yes. There were times I felt like walking out. Quitting. He’d say something, then I’d say something. We’d fight over small things. Which led to bigger disagreements.

I remember, the daughter said, looking in the mirror. I remember all the nights, Daddy walked out. And you didn’t follow him. He just got in the car and was gone, she lit a cigarette. 

Don’t ash on your dress, Momma told her. Be careful.  Shouldn’t smoke anyway, she grabbed the cigarette from her daughter’s lips and crushed it on the pine floor.

Do you wish you married a different man? Someone who took better care of us?

Sometimes. But then I never would’ve had you.

Strange how that works.

It is. You love this man? This boy you’re about to walk down the aisle with?

I guess so. Seems like the best thing to do.

How so?

What’s that?

I said, how so?

He’s got a good job. I think he loves me.

Do you love him?

I’ll learn to, the bride said. You taught me that.

Yeah, but I never did. Thought I could. Never did.

You never loved Dad?

The mother shook her head. I’m afraid not. Couldn’t wait for him to die.

Why didn’t you just get a divorce?

Christians don’t do that. We just stay miserable.