“Why are we here?” she had asked earlier, in front of their pastor, right before the vow renewal.
“Mom, it’s your anniversary,” Jay reminded her. Her voice quivered despite her best efforts. That tremor—the disbelief that our mother, brilliant and sharp, a world-renowned obstetrician, could forget something so simple—cut deeper than any diagnosis ever could.
Mom blinked at all of us, just moments before we were supposed to walk down the aisle to Dad, completely lost. Somehow, we got her through the doors, but every second of the ceremony felt like waiting for something to break. Halfway through, Emma had to remind me tobreathe.
Watching them now, though, you’d have no idea. You’d never know my mother, Donna Jones, is losing her memory. Most of the guests here don’t.
Across the room, Jay and Shayna stand rigid, hands clenched, ready to step in if something goes wrong. But Dad’s got it under control. He twirls Mom, tossing my sisters a wink, and she laughs, head tipping back, utterly lost in the man she’s loved for fifty years.
When the song ends, the crowd goes wild, and Mom beams as she soaks in the applause. She’s always loved attention, not in a boastful way but in that “this is what life’s about” kind of way.
The night buzzes around us with music, laughter, and the occasional cry of a sleepy toddler. Emma rests against me, radiant even in her exhaustion. Her hair is pinned back, her face bare, glowing in the low light. She hadn’t bothered with makeup for the evening, said she didn’t have the time. Or maybe she just didn’t care to. I didn’t push. If I had, she’d think I was saying she didn’t look perfect. And she always looks perfect.
Postpartum lingered for her longer than we expected. Before things got bad with Mom, she warned us it might take years for Emma to feel like her old self again. Me too, apparently.
“Both of you,” she had said. “You both will go through things, her more than you, but you can get back to the way it was over time.”
But over the last four years, I’ve realized that, after kids, you never fully go back.
Our old selves are gone.
This reality, the inevitable, used to keep me up at night in the beginning. The boys were so little, and Emma lost herself in loving them. I mourned the Emma I first fell in love with. She was so lively and had a charisma about her that sent me to my knees. But twelve years together has taught me that change isn’t loss. It’s evolution. To expect either of us to stay the same would’ve meant missing out on the version of her standing beside me now. The beautiful, strong wife and mother forged from everything we’ve lived through.
Sawyer stretches and yawns in my arms, nuzzling himself closer into my chest. It sets off a chain reaction of yawns and sleepy smiles from both Emma and me. We laugh quietly, sharing that wordless exhaustion parents know too well, and start gathering our things to head upstairs.
The ballroom is still alive as we weave through flowing bodies and soft music. Mom retreated up to her room with Tamara about an hour ago, and Dad stayed, catching up with some old rancher friends.
As we say our goodnights and near the elevator, Jay intercepts us with a sly grin on her face.
“Let us take them tonight.” She motions for Easton, a three-foot, sleep-deprived zombie clinging to my knee for stability.
Before I can even think to protest, Emma’s already handing over the boys and steering me into the open elevator. A mischievous smile curls her mouth as she calls out to Jay, “I owe you one!”
“What was that—”
My words cut off when Emma’s lips find mine. The rest of the world dissolves as she kisses me, eager and reverent all at once. Her hands press into my chest, her body leaning into mine until my back meets the cool metal of the elevator wall. Each kiss sends a sharp wave of need through me like a bolt of lightning. It’s a painful reminder of how long it’s been since we’ve been alone like this.
Our breaths turn ragged, mingling between us as her hands travel upward and settle at the nape of my neck, holding me there like she’s afraid to let go.
“I’ve missed you,” she pants, resting her forehead against mine.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, pulling her as close as humanly possible. My hands trace familiar paths, finding her hips, her waist, the small divot of her back. The silk of her blue dress stretches beneath my fingers, tugging softly, and I have to remind myself not to tear it away right here.
“Did you miss me?”
“You have no idea.”
A moan fumbles out of me as I press my lips to her neck. She already knows how desperate I’ve wanted to be with her, but still, she needs to hear it. The whole seeing-is-believing thing…she needs to feel it threaded through every word, every breath.
So I tell her again.
“God, I’ve missed you.”
Her breath catches as I pull her bottom lip between mine. She laughs softly, rising on her toes to kiss me more and more. My body aches as her hands glide up and under my button-down shirt. She bites her lip as she traces the lines on my stomach as though she’s trying to memorize the feel of me.
“How long is this elevator?” I groan, my voice rough against her lips. Heat pulses through me as the world around me hones in on just her. You’d think we’d be better at controlling ourselves.
The slow climb of numbers in the corner barely registers, and the thought that someone could walk in isn’t enough to stop these deprived toddler parents. Life has been…busy. Between parenthood, work, and everything that isn’t justus,moments like these have become rare—and too hard to resist.
