Harrison
The morning of our wedding, I wake before the sun.
For a while, I lie there listening to the water outside the open window and the steady sound of Scott breathing beside me.
The cottage is still dark, soft blue light barely beginning to touch the room.
Scott’s curled toward me like he always does when he sleeps now, one hand tucked beneath his cheek while the other rests loosely against my chest.
I don’t want to wake him yet. I want to remember this version of him exactly as he is right now.
Peaceful.
Safe.
Mine.
That word still catches me off guard sometimes.
Not because it feels too big or unfamiliar.
Honestly, it’s the opposite. It fits so naturally now that sometimes I catch myself wondering how I ever lived a life where Scott wasn’t woven into every part of it.
Before him, I lived in an apartment, alone.
Morning coffee was just coffee. The future was this vague thing I kept moving toward without really picturing it clearly.
Now every version of my life begins with him.
With his books left open on the couch. His laugh drifting through the kitchen while he cooks. The way he reaches for me, half asleep, without even realizing he’s doing it. The way loving him stopped feeling like a choice somewhere along the way and started feeling as natural as breathing.
So yeah, the word still catches me sometimes. Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a little overwhelmed by the fact that I actually get to call this man mine.
Beside me, Scott stirs slightly, his fingers flexing against my chest before his eyes slowly open.
For a second, he just looks at me. Then his mouth curves into a sleepy grin. “Were you watching me sleep?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s weird behavior.”
“You’re marrying me anyway.”
A soft laugh slips out of him, still rough with sleep, and God, I love that sound more than I know how to explain.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I am.”
The quiet wonder still tucked inside those words hits me harder than it should. Because even now, after the proposal and the planning and the half-finished seating chart currently abandoned on our kitchen counter downstairs, part of Scott still sounds amazed that he gets to have this life.
That he gets to be loved openly.
That nobody’s asking him to hide anymore.
Leaning down, I kiss him. It’s slow and warm and familiar. When I pull back, his eyes stay closed for an extra second, like he’s holding onto the feeling of it.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
His eyes open again before he nods. “I think so.”
“That answer doesn’t inspire confidence.”
He exhales softly and rolls onto his back beside me, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m happy,” he says after a moment. “I really am.” His throat works slightly before he adds more quietly, “I just hate that he’s not going to be here.”
I know immediately who he means.
His father still hasn’t called.
Not once.
His mother has gotten better over the past few months. It wasn’t all at once, and it hasn’t been without difficult moments. But she’s trying in a way that feels real now instead of forced.
She’s met me. She’s sat in this cottage with us, laughed quietly at one of Scott’s terrible jokes, and cried when she realized how happy he is here.
It still isn’t easy for her all the time. Sometimes I can see the uncomfortableness and adjustment. The grief of letting go of the life she once pictured for her son and learning to embrace the one he actually wants.
But she’s coming to the wedding today. Because she loves her son enough to keep choosing him while she figures the rest out.
His father still hasn’t spoken to him, though.
And no matter how much healing Scott’s done, I know there’s still a part of him grieving that loss every single day.
I lace our fingers together beneath the blankets.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I wish it were different, too.”
Scott nods once, still staring at the ceiling like he’s trying not to let the hurt touch him today.
I roll onto my side, turning toward him fully. “But listen to me for a second.”
His eyes finally shift back to mine.
“Today isn’t any less because somebody chose not to show up for it.” Emotion flickers across his face. “You are not less because he can’t understand this,” I continue softly. “And this marriage isn’t less either.”
His throat moves around a swallow.
“The people standing out there today love you exactly as you are, Scott. Not some edited version of you. Not the version that spent years trying to make everybody else comfortable.” I squeeze his hand gently. “You.”
For a second, he just looks at me, every emotion he tries so hard to hide written plainly across his face.
Then he nods slowly.
“Okay,” he whispers.
I lean forward and kiss his forehead gently. “Okay.”
By late morning, the cottage no longer feels sleepy and still, the way it had before sunrise. Soft music drifts through the house while quiet voices carry in from outside as our closest friends begin gathering by the lake, the sound blending with the breeze moving through the open windows.
Scott keeps fixing his tie. Not because anything’s actually wrong with it. Because he’s nervous enough that he needs something to do with his hands.
He adjusts it again in the mirror, exhales quietly, and then immediately reaches for it a second later.
“Scott.”
He glances at me through the reflection. “I know.”
Then, he turns slowly toward me, suit jacket still unbuttoned, tie slightly crooked from how many times he’s messed with it already.
He turns toward me slowly, and for a second, all I can do is stare at him. At the man I get to marry.
He’s beautiful.
Not in the polished, untouchable way people talk about in movies.
In the real way. The way someone becomes beautiful after you’ve loved every version of them.
“You ready?” I ask softly.
He takes a breath. Then another.
And this time, when he answers, there’s no hesitation in it at all. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m ready.”
A soft knock sounds against the open bedroom door before either of us can move.
Scott turns first.
His mom stands there quietly, one hand still resting against the frame like she’s not entirely sure if she’s interrupting something.
For a second, nobody says anything. Then her eyes settle on Scott, and I watch her expression change all at once.
Pride.
Love.
Heartbreak.
Like seeing her son standing here on his wedding day is somehow healing something inside her while hurting her at the same time.
“You look handsome,” she says softly.
Scott’s throat moves around a swallow. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her eyes flick briefly toward me then. “Could I steal him for a minute?”
“Yeah,” I say immediately.
Scott looks at me for half a second like he suddenly isn’t sure he wants me to leave him alone in this conversation, and I squeeze the back of his neck gently as I pass him.
“I’ll be outside.”
He nods once.
I brush my mouth briefly against his temple before stepping out of the room, quietly pulling the door mostly closed behind me.
I don’t go far. I stop just outside the bedroom, leaning back against the wall.
Behind the mostly closed door, I hear Scott’s mother start crying softly. Then Scott. And God, that sound nearly undoes me.
Because for so long, he was terrified that loving me openly would cost him everything.
But today, his mother is here.
Today, he’s loved openly.
Today, he gets to marry the man he loves without hiding any part of himself.
I close my eyes briefly, letting the weight of that settle somewhere deep inside me.
It’s not perfect or untouched by hurt. But it’s real.
And maybe that’s what matters most.