I met him two summers ago and our third summer concluded with this wedding. I can’t say I was happy. No, I wasn’t. I was getting married and I liked my husband, but I wasn’t deeply in love.

He wasn’t either. Or maybe he was. Who cared at this point. I knew that he didn’t want to lose me. Sometimes he acted like he could be careless though. All his family arrived. Nobody came from my side because I was an immigrant and my family didn’t want to obtain expensive American visas. Anyways, I was getting married, and I was thinking in my head: “what a heck are you thinking about, girl? Do you love him? No. Do you want to live with him till the end of your-- may be short-- life?” The response was: “ I don’t know? Who cares? I need to be married. I am already 32.” I didn’t know what he was thinking. So, I was standing there near the altar. Neither I nor he believed in god. His family was an active Catholic gang. So, we had to go to this church to check out on that priest. My silky dress was a little bit uncomfortable. It was a little bit small. Not that I weight too much. I weighed 100 pounds. I just thought that I would be nervous and I will lose a lot of weight, so I bought the dress two sizes smaller. No, I was not nervous at all. Moreover, I gained couple pounds. So, I was standing there in this uncomfortable in it and was ready to jump out of it.