“I paid for the flowers. I paid for the venue. I paid for the catering. I paid for the dress.”
I blinked.
“I know.”
“But I would have burned every receipt if it meant you didn’t have to need this day.”
My throat closed.
He stepped closer.
“Are you sure?”
I thought about Caleb.
The packed bag.
The terminal diagnosis.
Owen’s condition.
Dr. Shah’s call.
My mother’s fear.
My own stubborn, broken little dream.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”
He nodded.
“Then let’s go take back your day.”
The doors opened.
Everyone stood.
And for one second, the world went silent.
I saw the aisle.
The flowers.
The faces.
My aunt crying into a tissue.
My cousin whispering, “Oh my God.”
My mother in the front row, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white.
Then I saw Owen.
He stood at the altar in a dark navy suit.
Not smiling like an actor.
Not posing like a groom.
Just standing.
Steady.
His eyes found mine.
He gave one small nod.
Not romantic.
Not dramatic.
A promise.
I’m here.
My knees nearly gave out.
My father felt it and tightened his arm around mine.
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