I’d thought the love story would strengthen with marriage, not usher in its end, for the honeymoon had been enjoyed long ago.
Because of my endowments, my baptismal clothing—a onesie white jumper— made me look twice my normal size.
David had taught me not to believe, & here I was, choosing to believe in something even greater than him.
Sister Corbin’s parents had cast her out for converting to Mormonism, even as I would someday be cast out by one, only to be clung to by another.
“I do,” I said, and so began my vow of being true to the Church in this life, only to be shackled to it the next.
I found it ironic how my previous faith, or upbringing, had influenced me in such a way as to make me acceptable to join another.
He asked a few more questions, & I felt I had not only passed the pre-baptismal test, I had passed his marriage qualifications test as well.
I didn’t even know his first name, yet he knew more about me than I would ever know about him. “I was brought up to wait for marriage.” “I know,” he said, looking at me in a way I realized just then that David had, at times, looked at me.