He paused.
“As your support person, for as long as you allow me to be one.”
I pressed my lips together to stop a sob.
“I vow not to run because your life gets hard.”
Caleb lowered his head.
“I vow not to call fear love.”
My father’s face twisted with pain.
“I vow to sit in waiting rooms, read confusing forms, bring better coffee, and never speak to you like you are already gone.”
My mother was crying openly now.
“I vow that if you get one year, I will respect it. If you get ten, I will celebrate them. If you get fifty, I will still remind you that black coffee is normal and you are dramatic.”
I laughed through tears.
“And if today is all I am allowed to give you,” he said, “then I will make today honest.”
The wind moved again.
He looked at the officiant.
“So no. I won’t fake-marry her.”
The crowd gasped.
My heart stopped.
Owen turned back to me.
“I will stand beside her. I will dance with her. I will take every photograph she wants. I will help her eat cake if she’s too tired to stand. I will make sure nobody turns her wedding into a pity funeral.”
Then he looked directly at Caleb.
“And I will not let any man who ran from her sickness come back for her hope.”
Caleb walked forward.
“Owen,” I whispered.
But Caleb was already moving down the aisle.
My father stepped into his path before he reached us.
The garden turned electric.
“Move,” Caleb said.
My father’s voice was cold.
“You left my daughter in a kitchen with a diagnosis and a suitcase. You do not get to approach her at the altar.”
Caleb’s face flushed.
“I made a mistake.”
My father smiled without warmth.
“You made a revelation.”
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