Chapter 10 - The Real Wedding
We didn't book a glasshouse. We didn't invite two hundred people in designer gowns.
A year later, on a crisp autumn afternoon, we got married in the sprawling, beautiful garden behind my parents' house. The trees were turning shades of gold and crimson. String lights were woven through the branches, casting a warm, intimate glow over the small gathering of thirty people—our real friends, our close colleagues, and our family.
There were no massive centerpieces blocking the view. The catering was done by my mother’s favorite local restaurant, serving comfort food that tasted like home.
When the music started—a simple acoustic guitar played by a friend—I didn't walk down a massive marble aisle.
I walked out of my childhood home, wearing a beautiful, understated lace dress. And waiting for me at the bottom of the porch steps were both of my parents.
My father was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, his chest puffed out with pride. My mother was glowing, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. I linked my arms through theirs.
We walked down the grassy path together.
At the end of the short aisle stood Liam. He looked handsome, grounded, and his eyes were filled with tears as he watched us approach. There was no hesitation. No pretense.
When we reached him, my father didn't just give me away. He shook Liam’s hand firmly, a silent exchange of profound respect between two good men. My mother kissed Liam’s cheek.
They took their seats.
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They didn't sit behind a pillar. They didn't sit behind a velvet drape.
They sat in the very front row, under the open sky, watching their daughter marry a man who loved her for exactly who she was, surrounded by a world where they truly belonged.
