The ceremony was held on a lawn.
The ground was slightly uneven. I noticed, but managed.
My cousin Travis walked beside me and helped navigate the rough patches.
Guests smiled at me.
Some people I hadn’t seen in years came over to say hello.
It felt okay.
It felt like maybe I’d been too worried.
During the cocktail hour, I was seated at a table near the edge of the room.
I later realized it was specifically because my wheelchair was easier to tuck away near the wall, where guests wouldn’t have to navigate around me.
But again, I didn’t say anything.
I told myself it was practical.
And then the reception started.
The wedding planner, a sharp, efficient woman named Diana, came over to me privately during dinner and said something that made my stomach drop.
“Savannah,” she said quietly, leaning down, “Brooke has asked that during the first dance photos and the formal family portraits, you wait in the side room. She’s concerned about the visual balance of the group shots.”
I stared at her.
“I’m sorry.”
Diana looked deeply uncomfortable.
She said, and these are her words, not mine, that the wheelchair is visually distracting in photographs.
I felt the table go very far away from me, like I was looking at the room through the wrong end of a telescope.
“She said that?” I repeated.
Diana nodded.
She had the grace to look ashamed.