"Terrified." But he was still smiling. "In the best way."
He squeezed my hands and began again.
"I spent most of my life believing that love was something you earned by being perfect. By being strong. By never needing anything from anyone." His voice steadied, grew stronger. "I was wrong. You taught me that real love is in the asking. In the vulnerability. In letting someone see the parts of yourself you're most afraid to show."
Tears were already sliding down my cheeks. I didn't try to stop them.
"So I promise you this," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "I will be vulnerable with you. I will ask for help when I need it, without shame or apology. I will trust you to make your own choices, even when they terrify me, because your strength is not mine to control." He paused, his own eyes glistening. "I will choose you, Charlotte. With my whole, imperfect self. Every single day, for the rest of my life."
I was openly crying now, and I didn't care. Let the whole world see.
"Your turn," the minister said gently.
I took a shaky breath. Miles squeezed my hands, and I felt the tremor beneath my fingers, steady, familiar, beloved.
"Miles." My voice trembled, but I pushed through. "I spent most of my life believing that love was something you proved by being endlessly capable. By sacrificing until you were empty. By making yourself indispensable, so no one would ever leave."
His expression softened with understanding. He knew this about me. He'd seen it, named it, loved me anyway.
"I was wrong," I continued. "You taught me that real love has boundaries. That I can choose someone without losing myself. That being loved doesn't mean being needed, it means being wanted, exactly as I am."
He was crying now, too. We were both a mess, and it was perfect.
"So I promise you this: I will maintain my own life, my own friends, my own dreams, because I am better for you when I am whole. I will be honest about my needs and pains. I will not disappear into caring for you." I smiled through my tears. "And I will choose you, Miles Cameron. Every single day. Not out of obligation or fear. But with my whole, joyful heart."
The minister said the formal words. We exchanged rings, his hands shaking as he slid the simple band onto my finger, right beside the emeralds that matched my eyes. It didn't matter that his fingers trembled. The ring found its home.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the minister said. "You may?—"
Miles didn't wait for permission.
He pulled me to him and kissed me like we were the only two people in the world. It was soft and fierce and tasted like tears and joy and a future we'd chosen with our eyes wide open. Our family and friends erupted in applause, the sound mixing with the river's song and the delighted shouts of Beth's boys, but I barely heard any of it.
All I heard was his heartbeat against mine. All I felt was home.
When we finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, he was grinning.
"Hi, Mrs. Cameron," he murmured.
"Hi, Mr. Cameron."
"I really like the sound of that."
"Me too."
The reception unfolded naturally around us, a picnic under our oak tree that felt more like a family gathering than a formal event. Beth's husband manned the grill with questionable confidence while she supervised.
"If you burn those burgers, I'm filing for divorce," she called out.
"You make the same threat every cookout."
"And every cookout, you give me a reason."
I laughed, watching them bicker with the ease of people who'd been doing it for years. This was what I wanted, not perfection, but this. Laughter and slightly charred hot dogs and people who loved us enough to show up.
Miles appeared at my side with two plates of food on a platter, somehow having navigated the buffet one-handed while his other arm stayed firmly around my waist.
"Your mother is crying again," he reported.
