She could tell I was faking it. My smile felt wrong, though no one else knew. She knew. A glance at the priest standing before us revealed that he was none the wiser to my feelings. But she could tell, I know she could. She stood there, hands grasping mine, tears shining in her eyes, a wide grin stretched across her face. Was she faking it, too? I was panicked this morning, knowing that I was to be married in a few hours. Maybe she felt the same. My calm facade got me through the waiting, but I was nervous as hell. What had I gotten myself into? Was I ready for this? A vision flashed across my sight, I could hear children screaming in the background as I watched her, fattened by years of complacence, washing dishes at the kitchen sink, dumping water into a sizzling pot on a grimy stove. This was our future. Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? Maybe it won't be so bad. I look at her mother, with her long, dark hair and bright green eyes. A curvy figure in a floral dress, she was still a beautiful woman into her fifties. Maybe my wife would be similar, in ten years.