The ceremony took place in a judge's office. Wood paneling lined the walls, dark with age, decorated with framed certificates and a mounted fish that had seen better days. A slightly dusty American flag stood in the corner. The desk was cluttered with files and coffee-stained papers, a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in wax paper pushed to one side. Family photos crowded the windowsill—grandchildren grinning in school portraits, a wedding photo from what looked like the 1980s.
Judge Warren was a tired-looking man in his sixties, responsible for officiating our marriage and clearly juggling a dozen other things he needed to get done today. He wanted to get through this as quickly as possible.
Fine by me.
He shuffled through his papers, found the right form, and cleared his throat. "We are gathered here today to unite Riley Marie Santos and Liam James Murphy in matrimony."
The words washed over me, formal and hollow. I’d heard them before—in movies, at other people’s weddings. They were supposed to mean something. A beginning. A choice. A promise made because you wanted the same future.
This wasn’t that.
This was leverage. A calculated risk. A line I was stepping over because the alternative was worse. My pulse stayed steady, but my jaw ached from how hard I was holding it in place. I kept my eyes forward, hands still, every instinct focused on control.
Paperwork with extra steps. A legal shield. A move on the board. If this worked, it bought us time. Safety. Distance from Todd’s reach.
If it didn’t?—
I cut that thought off. I didn’t have the luxury of imagining failure.
"Do you, Riley Marie Santos, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
My mouth went dry. The words I'd practiced, the simple "I do" I'd said a hundred times in my head, suddenly felt enormous. I was standing in a stranger's office, about to legally bind myself to a man I barely knew, betting everything on a plan that could fall apart at any moment.
Mia's face flashed through my mind. I was doing this for her. For us. For the family we'd scraped together from the wreckage of everything we'd lost.
"I do."
The words came out steady. Practiced. They didn't feel like mine.
"Do you, Liam James Murphy, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
"I do."
His voice was rougher than mine. I glanced at him, caught something in his expression, and looked away.
"The rings?"
I’d expected something from a drugstore. Cheap. Temporary. A placeholder to sell the story. Instead, Liam reached into his pocket and produced two bands.
They were simple. Smooth. Real gold, warm even in the flat courthouse light. No stones, no engraving—just weight and finish, the kind of ring that wasn’t meant to be replaced later. The kind you bought once because you didn’t plan on taking it off.
My stomach tightened. This hadn’t been discussed.
These weren’t props. They were commitments disguised as simplicity.
My eyes flicked to his. A question I didn't ask.
He didn't answer it. Just took my hand, and I tried not to notice how warm his fingers were, how steady his grip was, how my pulse jumped when his skin touched mine.
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. I wondered when he'd had time to figure out my size, and then I stopped wondering because that way lay dangerous thoughts.
"By the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Seven minutes. That's all it took. Seven minutes to change everything.
Cal clapped Liam on the shoulder. Lucy caught my eye and smiled, small and knowing, like she could see something I couldn't. We signed the papers, initials and signatures on lines that would bind us together for the next year of our lives.
And then it was done.
