Her ring is sparkling under the sun.
Looking at her, beautifully decked up, I know that I am doing the right thing.
Her white, flowing dress falls around her neatly as she walks down the aisle, her eyes fixed on the man she is going to marry.
I wipe a silent tear, remembering my own wedding, 26 years ago.
Ours was an arranged marriage.
I had wanted to be independent.
My parents had wanted dowry.
In our struggle to decide my future, they won.
Before I turned eighteen, my marriage had been fixed.
I look at my daughter now, vibrant, an air of independence around her.
At 25, she radiates brilliance.
The man down the aisle is her boyfriend of eight years.
She made the choice that I had been too afraid to make almost three decades ago.
I remember our discussion, about five years back, when I had brushed upon the topic of marriage.
Had I been as firm as she was back then, and my parents as understanding as I am, things would be a lot different now.
Wiping away another tear, I watch as they seal their love with a kiss.
Her happiness makes me happy.
This is an entry for the FEMFLASH 2013 writing competition from Mookychick Online. Enter now.