I heard Leah’s breath catch.
“They told me where I lived. What work I did. Who had visited. They told me you were my partner.”
I looked at our joined hands.
“None of those facts taught me how to love you.”
Reid’s fingers tightened around mine.
“I learned that again because you came when I called. Because you answered questions that hurt you. Because you let me leave rooms without turning departure into rejection.”
My voice roughened.
“You loved me without requiring me to become the man you missed.”
A tear slid into Reid’s beard.
“I cannot promise I will remember every day we have.”
The loft fell still beneath the weight of the sentence.
“But I promise memory will never be the only measure of my love.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I promise to write things down. To ask when I don’t know. To believe you when fear tells me I am a burden and you tell me I am your partner.”
My thumb brushed his ring finger.
“I promise to say amber before the world turns red. To let you worry without letting worry rule us. To come home when I need rest and to leave home when living asks for courage.”
The harbor wind moved through the open doors, carrying salt and rain.
“You were my safety before I knew your name.”
Reid’s breath broke.
“You became my choice after I did.”
I smiled through tears.
“I promise to keep choosing you.”
His forehead nearly touched mine.
“And because you insist on exact language, I will say this clearly.”
A faint laugh rippled through the room.
“I want the boring parts. The frightening parts. The parts we cannot plan.”
My voice softened.
“I want to be your husband.”
Reid mouthed my name.
The celebrant gave us a moment before asking for the rings.
