SIX MONTHS LEFT
Little puffs of white vanished into the cold Chicago air as my breath coated her lips. Not even my big coat could shield me from the stinging winter cold that seemed to permeate my own bones. Perhaps then it was more than just the temperature. Perhaps the cold I experienced exceeded mere sensation.
Crawling over the snow-covered streets, the sound of new snowfall under my boots gave my depressing thoughts a consistent cadence. Walking with me were my mother and sisters; our modest procession was completed by the always visible security. Only another family trip. Indeed.
My stomach turned as we walked toward the opulent bridal store, its windows bursting with flowing white gowns and glittering accessories. Was not this meant to be thrilling? A passage of passage. A dream
