Near the front, Beatice sat proudly beside Joseph, chin lifted high.
At the altar, Moses waited in a dark suit. He stood calmly, ignoring the murmurs, his eyes fixed on the aisle.
When Catherine reached him, she dared one glance at his face.
He did not look triumphant.
He looked almost apologetic.
The pastor began the ceremony, speaking of commitment, patience, and duty. To Catherine, the words felt distant, unreal. How could such vows mean anything when she had not chosen this?
Then came the moment.
“Moses Bario, do you take Catherine Asiimwe to be your wife?”
“I do,” he answered steadily.
“And Catherine Asiimwe, do you take Moses Bario to be your husband?”
The church went still.
Catherine felt hundreds of eyes on her. Her heart pounded. She remembered her parents. The roadside market. The envelopes on the table.
Then, with all those eyes on her, she heard herself say softly, “Yes.”
The rings were brought forward. Moses took her hand gently, as if afraid to frighten her.
As he slid the ring onto her finger, he said in a voice so low only she could hear, “I promise to respect you.”
It was not part of the pastor’s vows. It was his own.
When it was Catherine’s turn, her hands trembled.
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