Seeing my father yesterday was harder than I expected. He’d lost a lot of weight, and he didn’t look good. He looked small and weak, cheeks hollowed out and so pale like he was fighting for every breath.

Or he would be if he weren’t on a machine that was doing the breathing for him.

I talked to one of the doctors who said he’d gone into cardiac arrest. And he didn’t have to tell me the outcome didn’t look good. I could see that. So I sat beside him and held his hand and tried not to sob.

My dad and I, we’re as close as you can get when you’re a daughter of a Society family. The females are considered second-class citizens, and daughters are marriage material to, ideally, better your standing within the organization or birth the sons of the next generation. Sons hold more value. Although not Abel because he was a product of a marriage not sanctified by The Society.

But when we were alone, Dad was different. He was never unkind. My mother was the one always ready to smack you with the back of her hand or burn you with the tip of a cigarette she swore she didn’t smoke. My dad was gentle. And at times, affectionate even.

No. He is gentle. He’s still here. And as long as he’s still here, there’s still a chance.

He let me go away to college. That doesn’t happen to most girls within The Society. Girls live at home. They study but only under the watchful eyes of their parents.

I think back to Dr. Chambers, shuddering at the thought of what it must have been like having him for a father. It actually makes me understand Maria a little more.

My dad is different. And I want to believe that some part of him hoped I would somehow get away from the clutches of The Society. At least on some subconscious level.

I try to remember those things as I sit here now. Not how small he looked in that hospital bed. Not the ongoing sounds of the machines he was hooked up to.

I stare at the garment bag hanging on my closet door. It’s clear. I can see through it to my wedding dress. It’s beautiful. Black. It fits my mood. And it fits for a Society wedding to a stranger.

There must be yards of lace and too many satin buttons to count. The veil is in its own bag, and it’s even longer than the dress. The shoes, though, as gorgeous as they are, will be staying in their box. Maybe he can return them and get his money back. Because if I wear those, I will surely break my neck.

I glance at the clock. A little after nine o’clock. Three hours to go.