“I want a marriage, Mom. Not a dance or performance.”
She fiddled with her necklace, avoiding my eyes. “I just worry you haven’t thought this through.”
But I had.
Every night I thought about Rowan—how he made my world feel bigger, not smaller. Never with pity, always with curiosity and kindness.
One evening before the wedding, Rowan caught me tracing the edge of my veil.
“Second thoughts?” he teased.
I shook my head. “Not unless you’ve decided to leave the toothpaste cap off forever.”
He laughed and reached for my hand.
The wedding day was a blur of lace, nerves, and rain on the church steps. When I caught Rowan’s eye at the end of the aisle, I instantly relaxed.
His medals gleamed against his uniform, but his smile was only for me.
At the altar, he wheeled himself to my side and took my hands.
The officiant smiled. “Rowan, you may now stand, if you want!”
Everyone laughed, including Rowan. He squeezed my hand until my fingers tingled. “I’m good right here,” he said with a wink.
Our vows were messy and honest. Rowan promised coffee every morning. I promised to love him fiercely. He whispered, “You already do.”
I caught Mom watching, her face unreadable.
Later, Rowan raised his glass of cider. “To new beginnings, Mik,” he said, looking right at me.
We had decided to delay our reception. I didn’t want Rowan to overdo it, and I had been nervous about the first dance.
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