Chapter 9 - THE WEDDING
We didn't have a giant wedding.
Grace didn't want one.
She said she had already spent enough time surrounded by people who cared about appearances.
So we chose the garden behind our house.
White flowers.
Soft lights.
A small wooden arch.
No cameras.
No politicians.
No criminals.
Just family.
My mother cried before the ceremony even started.
Noah carried the rings.
He took the job extremely seriously.
Until he saw the cake.
Then he abandoned the rings.
I caught him halfway across the garden.
“Where are you going?”
“Cake.”
“Your job is the rings.”
He looked at me.
“Cake first.”
Grace laughed from beneath the arch.
“Let him have cake.”
“You're encouraging him.”
“I'm his mother.”
I smiled.
“Fair enough.”
Then the music began.
Grace walked toward me.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
She wasn't wearing anything extravagant.
Just a simple ivory dress.
Her blonde hair was loosely pinned back.
She looked nervous.
Beautiful.
Real.
When she reached me, she whispered:
“You're staring.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I still can't believe you're here.”
She smiled.
“I am.”
I took her hands.
“I promise you something.”
“What?”
“You will never have to wonder whether you're safe with me.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“And I promise you,” she said, “you'll never have to wonder whether you're loved.”
We exchanged vows.
No grand speeches.
No promises about money.
Only ordinary things.
Breakfast together.
Sunday mornings.
Being there when Noah had nightmares.
Laughing when life became ridiculous.
Growing old.
When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, Noah shouted:
“Now kiss!”
Everyone laughed.
I kissed Grace.
My son cheered.
And somewhere inside my heart, I felt peace.
Afterward, Grace and I stood alone beneath the lights.
She looked at me.
“Do you miss Claire?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I do too.”
I looked at her.
“Does that bother you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because missing someone doesn't mean you don't love the person standing beside you.”
I pulled her closer.
“You're right.”
She rested her head against my chest.
“Claire would be happy.”
I looked toward the sky.
“I think so.”
Then Noah ran toward us.
“Family picture!”
We laughed.
He stood between us.
I wrapped one arm around him.
Grace wrapped the other around him.
The photographer lifted the camera.
And just before the flash, Noah looked up.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we happy?”
I looked at Grace.
Then at my son.
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“We are.”
May you like
The camera flashed.
And that photograph became my favorite picture in the world.
