look toward the last row. Not once. Franco and I walked together. A carpenter and a gardener. No shared blood. No shared last name. Exactly where we were supposed to be. When we reached the front, the officiant smiled. ” It was not the old wording. I had changed it months earlier because I did not belong to anyone who could give me away. Franco cleared his throat. Then answered: “Her family. ” A breath seemed to move through the entire room. I looked at Franco. His jaw tightened as he tried
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