I never got to wear a real wedding dress. Instead, three weeks after my 18th birthday, I walked down the aisle resembling a big piece of pink cotton candy with a rain coat. I was seven months pregnant with the groom’s child. Each step was supposed to be joyful. Instead, I remember vividly how ashamed I was. As I looked at my friends and family dressed in T-shirts and jeans, I remember the wedding of my childhood dreams. I wanted to be wearing a big stark white, ball gown princess dress. My hair up in a knot with ringlets of …
