Then came the wedding of the daughter of some neighbors.
In our village, weddings were a celebration
for everyone. The women brought food, blankets, flowers, and fabrics to decorate the bride’s room. Even poor families wanted their daughters to begin married life surrounded by color and hope.
That morning, my mother-in-law opened a trunk and handed me two pieces of fabric.
“Take this to the bride’s house,” he told me. “They can use it for decoration.”
I didn’t steal them. I didn’t hide them. I took them with her permission, thinking only that I was helping another young woman prepare for the happiest day of her life.
At the bride’s house, the women laughed, arranged pillows, hung fabrics on the walls, and teased the nervous bride affectionately. For a while, I forgot the heaviness of my own home. I laughed with them and felt like I belonged somewhere.
