The officiant’s voice was calm, steady.
Sacred words laced with elegance filled the space, but I barely heard them.
I stood there, hand in Ruben’s, nodding when prompted, smiling when expected. The weight of hundreds of eyes pressed down on me like I was on a stage I couldn’t escape.
“I do,” Ruben said, clear and certain, like he had practiced it a hundred times.
Then it was my turn.
I looked at him this man I was marrying and for a second, the world disappeared. Not in a romantic way, no. But in that jarring, paralyzing moment you realize this is it. No rehearsals. No pause button. This was real.
I swallowed.
“I… do.”
The words escaped on a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
There was applause.
Cheering.
Flashbulbs.
And then… we kissed.
His lips were soft, careful. He didn’t linger. And neither did I.
When we turned to face the crowd as husband and wife, I wore the brightest smile I could manage. But inside? I felt like I had left something behind at the altar. Something I’d never
