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“What?”
“No wedding sex for you!” And then she gets her phone, plays “Love Story” by Taylor Swift—the song that started this whole mess—through the speakers and blasts it so loud the sound distorts. She stomps across the house in her almost naked glory and opens the front door. She returns only moments later holding the pig to her chest, and then… then she dances with it.
I sit on the edge of the bed, laughing to the point of tears. In nothing but her bra and underwear, she sways around the house—ourhome—gliding and spinning across the floorboards and shouting the lyrics at the top of her lungs, and she’s so… extraordinary, and beautiful, but most of all… she’sfree.
And while I know she thinks I somehow had something to do with that… she did this all on her own. She fought the entire world to be who she is.
Howshe is.
Jamie saved herself, and in turn, she saved me.
Saved us.
She’sthe hero in our story—ourLove Story—and I’m forever grateful that she camehometo me.
My sunshine.
My solace.
