Page 25 of The Song We Lost

I smile into her hair. “I would do anything for you. I love you so much.”

When I’m alone again, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands and I make myself a promise.

I will not ruin this.

Not her wedding.

Not her joy.

Not this moment she’s waited so long for.

No matter what it costs me.

And for now, that promise is enough.

chapter 11

bailey

. . .

There’s laughter, nervous, bubbling laughter, and the soft rustle of fabric as dresses are adjusted. Outside the open window, I can hear the low murmur of voices drifting through the property, the scrape of chairs being moved into place. Sadie is standing in front of a full length mirror, hands clasped in front of her. Her hair is pinned up in soft twists, loose enough to still look like her. Her makeup is light, just enough to make her eyes shine. She looks… young. Not in years, not that we are old... but this feels different. Like hope in a future far better than our past.

I step behind her and smooth the back of her dress, fingers brushing over lace that took weeks to choose. My hands know how to do this. I’ve been steadying Sadie my whole life.

“You ready?” I ask.

She nods. Then shakes her head. Then lets out a breathy laugh. “No. Yes. Maybe all of it at once.”

I smile. “That means you’re doing it right.”

She meets my eyes in the mirror and there's so much in that look: gratitude, love, nerves, the shared history of two girls who lost everything too early and somehow still found their way here.

“Bailey,” she says softly, “I don’t think I ever said this properly.”

My chest tightens and I push down the urge to cry.

“Thank you. For… everything. For getting us here. For not giving up on this. On us.”

I squeeze her shoulders gently. “You don’t owe me anything. If anything it's the other way around. I owe you. I... I would do anything for you.”

She turns then, facing me fully, reaching out she grabs my hands and squeezes. “I know. But still. You carry so much, the weight of everyone’s dreams. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you.”

I swallow hard, there are a thousand things I want to say. About how she raised me. How she was more of a Mother to me then ours was even before she died. About how she stood in front of social workers at eighteen and told them she would figure it out. About how she chose me over any other version of her life. But those words, our fragile truth feels like it would unravel us both right now, so instead, I say, “You look perfect.”

Her eyes fill instantly. “Stop. You’ll ruin my makeup.”

We laugh, but the sound catches in my throat.

Outside, the barn has been transformed into something sacred. White flowers line the aisle, simple and wild, like they were meant to be there all along. Wooden chairs stand in neat rows, as sunlight pours through the open doors, dust motes floating in the air like blessings.

It’s small, and intimate. Family, friends and neighbours who helped clear land, plant trees, and rebuild barns. There is no press, no strangers. This won't be an overdone spectacle.

This is Sadie’s day.

This is everything we survived for.

Thomas stands near the entrance, tugging at his jacket, nerves written all over him. He’s walking Sadie down the aisle. When he catches my eye, he smiles, proud, emotional, grateful in a way that makes my throat burn.