The Wedding Photo

For thirteen years she had looked at the same wedding pictures showing the celebration in their eyes. Their love, hopes, and dreams shared that August, at Old Westbury Gardens; the North Shore Long Island, Charles II-style mansion with formal gardens. The ceremony had taken place in the Rose Garden. Afterwards, the pictures were taken throughout the many themed gardens; the Italian Garden, the pond with swans, the alcove with topiary peacocks, and the long front lawn, bordered on either side by perfectly groomed hedges as tall as a house, the very one used in opulent alcohol advertisements.
Her favorites had always been the candids. She paused on the picture of Steve and David pretending to push Frank into the pond, as Dena and Bev pulled her out of the way. Everyone’s laughter was so clear that it could still be heard through the paper images. This photograph showed the silliness that made them who they were. Their youth and naiveté had been captured forever.
As she sat, going through the pictures for the first time in over a decade, she was struck by the odd feeling that she could momentarily be transported back to that day, despite time, despite restraining orders, despite divorce. She suddenly realized that she had kept these pictures for her children. She knew that they would need the proof that their parents had once loved one another. She had not been able to even touch the wedding pictures since her marriage had ended. It was too painful, and her hurt had worn the mask of anger for a long time. Only now had enough time passed for her to feel the distance, making her mind’s trip in time a complete surprise.
She slowly fingered through the photographs until she came to one in particular, a close up candid of her own face. She had been caught laughing and spinning around in response to something said from behind her. Her hair was flying out of the way of her face, showing her spontaneous smile. As she studied the image, her eyes stopped when she noticed something on the edge of her left jaw...
What was that? No... it couldn’t be... but, there is was... it was undeniable... a bruise.
It had been almost twenty five years and she had put the event completely out of her mind. She could not remember any details. But here, staring her in the face, was the proof that their first physical fight had occurred the week before the wedding.
She was unable to move, unable to swallow the growing lump in her throat, unable to avert her eyes from the hideous truth. She was looking at her divorce, foreshadowed. This picture was not for her children. This one was hers, as a constant reminder and warning of her own potential for blindness in love.