Chapter 21
Nate
Tomorrow is the day.
The day Lizzie and I get married.
The last three months have been a whirlwind. A whirlwind of falling in love. The kind where every week held something new—learning each other, choosing each other, working through what it’ll actually mean to build a life together.
Happily ever after takes work. I know that. I’m not walking into this blind, pretending the past doesn’t come with us. I’m very aware of the things I carry into this marriage—the joys, the scars, the lessons I learned the hard way.
That’s part of the reason we’re eloping.
I didn’t want my kids to feel like they were being asked to sit front row feeling like I replaced their mother. I didn’t want a big wedding to feel like a loud announcement that life was moving on without them having time to catch up emotionally… or that I was moving on from them.
They’ve met Lizzie. They like her. But I can see it in Bea especially… feeling the weight of things shifting and changing—the quiet processing, the careful watching. The way she studies Lizzie when she thinks no one is looking. Not out of dislike. Out of loyalty. Out of love for her mom.
That’s natural—for any kid who’s in her position.
All I can do is pray for her. Pray that God steadies her heart in the middle of change. That she feels safe, secure, and deeply loved through all of this.
Because she is.
But even with all of that… everything still feels worth it.
God took my mess… and somehow turned it into hope.
Hope in Him.
Hope that He’s still writing good chapters, even after the painful ones.
I’m dropping Bea and Daniel off at their mom’s house after her ballet recital.
“Did you like it, dad?” Bea asks from the backseat.
I glance at her through the rearview mirror, catching the hopeful sparkle in her eyes.
“Of course, Bea. You were amazing out there.” I grin, and she immediately smiles back, shoulders lifting just a little taller.
We pull up in front of the house, and I hop out to open her door. Daniel runs straight into my arms the second his feet hit the pavement.
“It was so good to see you tonight, dad.”
I squeeze him tight. “I love you, kiddo.”
“Love you too, dad.”
He spots his mom at the door and darts toward her, already launching into things he’s been thinking about.
Bea steps forward next. I crouch down so we’re eye level and wrap her in a hug.
“You did great tonight, Bea.”
“Love you daddy.”
“Love you too.”
I stand and give Iris a small wave. She nods once in return. I turn to head back to the car, already mentally shifting to everything that still needs to be ready for tomorrow.
“Wait, Nate.”
I pause mid-step. There’s something in her tone that makes me stop fully. Not sharp. Just… heavy.
I turn back and see her walking toward me, arms crossed tight across her chest.
The kids are already inside. The door clicks shut behind them.
She stops a few feet away, shifting her weight like she’s not entirely sure she wants to be having this conversation.
“You do realize you’re throwing away every chance of us ever getting back together, right?” she asks.
I blink slowly.
That… wasn’t what I expected.
For a second, all I hear is the faint hum of traffic down the street and the distant echo of the kids’ laughter from inside the house.
I exhale, steady and slow.
“Iris…” My voice comes out softer than I planned. “You remember the day we got divorced?”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I told you when I took that ring off… I wasn’t putting it back on again.”
She looks away for a second, then back at me.
“But you’re throwing everything away. Any chance of us ever getting back together will be gone.
” Her arms stay crossed, stance wide, expression hard.
But underneath it, I can see it now—the insecurity, the sadness, the regret she doesn’t quite know how to say out loud.
“I’m just saying…” she mutters, eyes flicking briefly toward the house.
“Once you marry someone else, that door’s closed. Completely.”
“And you really want that?” I ask. “To get back together?”
She hesitates.
“I didn’t say that,” she says quickly. “I’m just saying you’re closing the option.”
I glance past her, imagining the life I’ll build with Lizzie tomorrow, and I know that this is where I’m meant to be. I shake my head gently.
“I know that’s how you see it. But… that choice was made the day you wanted the divorce.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I’m marrying Lizzie tomorrow.”
The words feel steady and certain—not defensive. Just true.
A silence settles between us. Not hostile. Just heavy with everything we used to be and everything we’re not anymore.
I search her face and feel something unexpected.
Not anger. Not resentment. Just… sadness.
“I forgave you, Iris,” I say quietly. “A long time ago.”
Her expression flickers for half a second.
“I just hope one day you can forgive yourself. Life gets messy. We both know that. But God has a way of redeeming messy chapters.” I offer a small, genuine nod. “I’ll pray that you find joy in Him moving forward. Real joy. The kind that doesn’t depend on everything going perfectly.”
Because really… that’s what I see. I see her behind her mask of pride, and I see the insecurity there. I see the yearning for her life to be different. Maybe she thought the divorce would solve everything going on inside.
And that’s just not the way it works. But it’s okay. Because redemption is always available.
I hope God meets her where she’s at and redeems all of the brokenness that happened between us.
She doesn’t respond right away. But then, she nods once and turns back toward the house.
The door closes behind her.
And just like that… that chapter of my life feels fully closed.
I sit in the car for a moment before starting the engine. My hands rest on the steering wheel as I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
That conversation could’ve shaken me months ago. Maybe even weeks ago.
But now? There’s a strange sense of peace in my chest. I just feel steady. Not because the past doesn’t matter. But because it does—and it led me here. To Lizzie.
I picture her smile. The way her eyes light up when she laughs. The quiet peace I felt the night I prayed about proposing. The certainty that didn’t feel rushed… just clear.
Tomorrow doesn’t feel like an escape from my past. It’s the next step after it.
I start the car and pull away from the curb.
Tomorrow, we drive two hours down the road to get married. To start a new life. A life that doesn’t pretend the past didn’t happen… but one that weaves the past and present together into something hopeful.
I could’ve given up after my divorce. I could’ve decided it was safer not to try again. Not to risk, not to trust, not to hope. Looked at the bad and not given anyone else access to my heart. Bitterness would’ve been easier.
But every day, we get a choice. Focus on the hurt… or look for the good God is still doing.
Close ourselves off… or take the risk of loving again.
Assume the worst… or believe the best.
It’s the same with God. When people hurt us, it’s easy to start expecting Him to do the same. To brace ourselves, waiting for disappointment. Wondering if He’ll let us down like others did.
But His Word says He won’t. And at some point, that leaves us with a decision: do we believe Him… or not?
Trust is choosing to believe in His character even when the evidence hasn’t fully played out yet. It’s taking a risk and saying, yes, I choose to believe. It’s saying, “Yes, I’m scared. But I’m going to believe You’re still good.”
When I made that choice… it reopened my heart. To love. To life. To the possibility that God could take my most broken chapter and turn it into something beautiful.
So here I go.
Toward tomorrow.