A two-year-old wearing size eight shoes, every necklace Marie possessed, a solemn black size six dress that Marie only wore to funerals, and enough makeup to paint twenty super models-badly.

An eight-year-old sprawled on the couch flipping channels.

A thirteen-year-old jumping for joy over their lucky ticket.

Lucky? Marie shook her head to clear all the images, leaving only one-the sixteen-year-old who was leaving today forever. Leaving today to become a woman.

"I'll be there," Marie said.

The flash of disgusted resignation in Nicole's eyes cut deep. No matter. She wasn't sitting in this house to leave Nicole walk out of her life without a proper goodbye.

****

Tears flowed freely down Marie's cheeks. She swiped them. Her make up was destroyed. When the minister asked "who objects', she balled up in anticipation, and prepared to spring to her feet.

A pleading look from the bride knocked the spring out of her, and Marie bit back the words of objection.

In the row across from her the Charleston's sat in rigid observation. Janice Charleston was a resplendently dressed mother-of-the-groom. Perfect hair, perfect dress designed by the most fashionable designer, manicured hands crossed in her lap, not a single tear on her masterfully applied make up, and a deep, disdainful frown on her lips as she watched Brant vow to love and honor forever.

Marie's eyebrow raised a bit. Mrs. Charleston wasn't happy? She craned her neck to see Mr. Charleston next to his wife. His body was there, a social obligation, but no sign of mental interest existed at all.