I looked at myself in the mirror and thought about Grace. About Hope. About the life we were building together.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready for all of it.”
Sixteen years of waiting.
A lifetime ahead.
And for once, I wasn’t late to my own happiness.
The ceremony was in the garden, under the trellis Grace’s grandmother had built forty years ago.
The wood was weathered now, pale from sun and snow and time, but still solid. Everything about it felt like Grace—something made with care, meant to last, never flashy, never temporary. Vines climbed the beams, late-summer leaves brushing the white lattice overhead, and someone had woven wildflowers through the gaps. The kind Grace loved. The kind that didn’t try too hard.
I stood at the front with Liam beside me, hands clasped in front of me because I didn’t trust them at my sides. The chairs filled slowly. Familiar faces. The crew took the first two rows, uniforms pressed, badges catching the light. Men and women I’d trusted with my life more times than I could count. Family, in the way that mattered.
Mrs. Patterson sat front and center, already dabbing her eyes with a tissue she’d clearly brought for this exact purpose. She caught me looking and smiled, soft and knowing, like she’d been waiting for this longer than anyone else. Doc Martinez waved from the back, casual as ever, as if he hadn’t helped bring my daughter into the world with his voice coming through a phone speaker. Elena sat near the aisle, blotting her eyes even though nothing had started yet.
The garden hummed with quiet anticipation. Wind through leaves. Low murmurs. The scrape of a chair leg against stone.
Then the music shifted.
An acoustic guitar. Simple. Unadorned. The kind of sound that didn’t demand attention but somehow drew all of it anyway.
Riley appeared at the end of the aisle with Hope in her arms.
My chest tightened.
Hope wore a tiny white dress that made her look like a very small, very confused angel. Six months old now. Chubby cheeks. Dark hair that never stayed combed. Eyes that tracked everything like she was already trying to figure the world out. She blinked against the sunlight, took in the crowd, the sound, the unfamiliar setup?—
Then she saw me.
Her face lit up. She squealed, high and delighted, and reached out with both hands, fingers stretching, whole body leaning forward like she might launch herself if Riley didn’t hold on tight.
The sound punched straight through me.
Riley laughed as she walked down the aisle. “She wouldn’t stop fussing until she saw you,” she whispered when she reached me. “I think she knows something’s happening.”
“I think she always knows,” I said, my voice already rough.
I took Hope from her, careful, instinctive. She grabbed my lapel immediately and shoved it into her mouth like she’d claimed it. Like she owned it. Like she owned me.
“Hey, little one,” I murmured, pressing my nose to her hair. “Ready to watch Mama and Daddy get married?”
She babbled something that might have been an agreement. Or commentary. Or criticism. With Hope, it was hard to tell.
The guitar shifted again.
The garden stilled.
I looked up.
Grace.
For a second, everything else dropped away—the crowd, the sound, the sky itself—and there was only her.
The sun was behind her, turning her hair into a halo, light catching in the loose strands she’d never managed to tame. She wore a simple white dress, no veil, nothing ornate. Just cleanlines and soft fabric that moved when she did. Wildflowers clutched in her hands. Her grandmother’s flowers. Her smile was steady, luminous, unmistakably real.
That smile.
