Chapter Text
The wedding takes place in June, on a clear and gentle day, bathed in warm light. Karen wanted the ceremony to be simple yet heartfelt, and above all, held in a place that meant something. She didn't want a large, impersonal hall, nor a church, nor even a city hall that felt too solemn. She wanted it to happen here. At home. At their school.
So Martha said yes.
She didn't really have a choice. Karen asked her with that soft yet commanding tone she used when she was sure of what she wanted. And Martha obeyed, as she always had. As she always would.
For weeks, Martha had overseen the preparations with an almost obsessive care. She had fixes up the benches, scrubbed the windows until they shone, sewn garlands of dried flowers that she hung in the hallways like a little procession floating above their heads.
On the morning of the wedding, everything was ready. The large blackboard in the main classroom had been turned into an honor board, decorated with drawings, messages from students, and fresh flowers picked from the garden. The wooden floor smelled of wax. Sunlight poured against the walls, and the chairs arranged in a half-circle. Outside, children ran between the threes, their laughter bursting like bubbles.
That morning, Martha had barely slept two hours.
She had put on her blue-grey dress, a simple one with a perfect cut, and tied a light scarf around her neck. She drank a cold coffee, without appetite.
She didn't know how to stand upright.
And then Karen appeared.
In a light cream-colored dress, her hair almost loose, held back only by a small mother-of-pearl comb inherited from her mother. She had a huge smile. She was glowing. She held a rustic bouquet she had put together herself in the garden. She turned to Martha like it was the most natural thing in the world.
- Are you okay ?
- Yes, Martha whispered. You look beautiful.
Karen smiled again. She kissed her cheek, very gently.
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The ceremony took place under the school's porch, decorated with white veils and lilac branches. Joe was there, of course, nervous, his hands shaking, his voice slightly hoarse as he said his vows. Karen listened to him with that tender, focused expression she usually reserved for children reciting poems.
Martha watched. She didn't cry. Her face was calm, almost still. But her fingers, clenched around the back of a chair, betrayed what she was trying to contain. No one was looking at her. Except Karen, from time to time. And in those moments, Martha smiled.
After the vows were exchanged, the cake was cut in the dining room, now turned into a reception hall. The children played violin and piano, the neighbors had brought pies, flowers, cakes. There was a familiar warmth in every corner. A modest but real happiness.
At one point, Karen looked for Martha in the crowd. She found her sitting alone in the little courtyard, under the shade of the big tree.
- You holding up ?
Martha shrugged, a tight smile on her lips.
- You know I hate parties.
- I know. But I wanted you to be there.
- I was.
Silence.
Karen sat beside her, their dresses almost touching. She watched the children run.
- It's strange. I feel like everything's about to change. Like I'm becoming someone else.
Martha looked at her, a moment too long.
- You are already someone else, Karen.
Karen didn't reply. She rested her head briefly on Martha's shoulder, like she used to.
- I don't want us to lose each other, she murmured.
- We won't, Martha replied. But her voice was so soft she wasn't sure Karen had heard.
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That evening, after the ceremony and the bursts of laughter, when the guests lingered a little longer to dance, chat, and toast to the happiness of the newlyweds, Martha felt herself slowly fade from the picture. She was there, though. Present. Always impeccable, making sure plates were filled, tablecloths stayed in place despite the wind, and children didn't sneak into forbidden corners.
But something inside her had begun to freeze.
When the music started, Karen had reached out her hand to Joe. He'd hesitated a little, Joe wasn't much of a dancer, but he'd smiled, and she'd let him into the circle traced by the hanging lanterns. It was simple, almost clumsy. And yet, it was beautiful.
Martha watched them from the threshold of the hall, her hands folded over her stomach, her shoulders too straight. She wished she hadn't looked. But she couldn't help it.
They turned slowly, cheeks brushing. Karen laughed softly against him, her head titled back. Martha knew that laugh, she had heard it a thousand times. But tonight, it seemed forbidden to her.
And then came a kiss.
Not a wild or dramatic kiss. Just a tender one, natural, almost discret. A lover's kiss like so many others. Karen's lips resting against Joe's, with that slight shiver you only notice when you're looking too intently.
Martha looked away.
But too late.
Something had bitten into her, a sharp, sudden bite that closed around her heart like a jaw.
Not jealousy in the ordinary sense. Not a desire to have Joe's place. No. It was deeper, more hopeless. A pain at seeing what she would never live, what she could never ask for.
A chasm opened beneath her feet.
She stepped out into the courtyard to breathe.
Outside, night had fallen. The air smelled of wilted flowers and damp earth. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Her breath was uneven, and her arms wrapped around her waist as if to hold in something threatening to tear her apart from the inside.
She could still hear the music, the bursts of laughter, fragments of songs. She heard Karen's name being called, being celebrated. And she was outside. Always outside. Always on the edge. Never inside.
The night was beautiful. The stars shone, indifferent.
She suddenly thought of their old days, fixing benchers together, laughing in the kitchen while making dinner, Karen handing her a cup of tea without a word, just with that deep, almost worried look. She thought of all the nights she had woken with a start from a dream too vivid, too violent.
Then she felt a tear roll down. Just one. She wiped it away brusquely, as if someone might have seen it. Then she went back inside. Without a word. She greeted a few guests, claimed a headache, and slipped away.
In her room, she sat on the bed without undressing, arms lim at her sides, her eyes dry now. Her heart beat slowly, painfully.
She could still hear the music, muffled though the walls.
She whispered, to no one : Congratulations, Karen .
And she stayed there, upright like a statue, her back to the wall, until the party died out, until the lanterns flickered, until everyone had gone.