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“I’ve watched you fight like hell for your life. For our boys. For this family. And I swear to God, Mya—every time I think I’ve loved you the most I possibly could, you prove me wrong.”
The air is thick with silence. Sacred. Soft.
“I promise to show up, even when it’s hard. I promise to keep choosing you, even when life is loud and messy. I promise to be your partner, your protector, your idiot with a guitar and a diaper bag.”
Laughter bubbles through my tears.
“I promise to love you even when you leave dishes in the sink. Even when you cut me off in arguments. Even when you forget that you shine.”
His voice is steady now. Sure.
“I’m yours,” he finishes. “In every timeline. In every life. And as long as I’m breathing—I’ll never let you forget that.”
The officiant waits one beat. Then another.
“You may now—”
But Fletch doesn’t wait.
He leans in, both hands cupping my face, and kisses me like he already knows we’re rewriting every definition of happily ever after.
And as the crowd erupts—cheers, laughter, and even a few ugly cries—Fletch presses his forehead to mine, and whispers just loud enough for me to hear:
“You were worth every damn fall.”
The music’s louder now. The firepit’s blazing. There’s laughter echoing across the fields like it’s been waiting all year to come out.
Shoes have been kicked off, jackets abandoned, and someone—probably Carson—is halfway through a tipsy retelling of the time Fletch tried to fix a broken amp with duct tape and blind optimism.
The twins are already asleep, swaddled in soft blankets, tucked into the arms of Thorin’s mom like she’s been waiting all night for the chance to hold them. Reese is camped out on a cushioned bench with her swollen ankles propped up, Mika brushing her hair back gently while Ally fans her with a clipboard that may or may not be the reception timeline.
Alex is dancing with Penelope in the grass, her head on his shoulder, her belly between them like a secret they’ve only just started sharing. Benji and Carson are battling it out at the s’mores bar, laughing like brothers.
It’s loud. It’s warm. It’s soft chaos and spilled cider and fairy lights reflected in wine glasses.
And it’s perfect.
But then… Fletch catches my eye.
One glance. That’s all it takes.
And suddenly it’s not the party I’m paying attention to.
It’s him.
He jerks his head toward the field. A silent come with me I don’t even think about denying.
We slip away from the crowd, hand in hand, dodging lanterns and half-finished drinks, until the music fades to a murmur and the stars stretch like a quilt over the open sky.
We don’t talk at first.
We just breathe.
The grass is soft beneath our feet, cool against my ankles. My dress trails behind me like smoke, the hem kissed with dew. Fletch’s jacket is long gone, his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened, his eyes locked on mine like I’m still that girl in the gold dress walking toward him.
“Can I confess something?” he says quietly.
I nod.
