40. Cormac
Cormac
The registry office is small and quiet, its sterile walls adorned with little more than the occasional framed certificate or a sprig of greenery in the corner.
The air is still, a soft murmur of quiet voices and the muted rustle of papers filling the space.
There’s no bustle here. No chatter. Just the low hum of formality, the calm before what’s about to happen.
It’s everything I expected and nothing like I imagined.
Dr. Walsh stands beside me, her posture as stiff and professional as always. She watches the proceedings with an almost clinical detachment, but I know what her demeanor conveys. She’s a woman of few words, but today, the approval in her gaze speaks volumes.
Niamh is at the edge of the room, slightly apart but still present. She’s observing, perhaps measuring, perhaps questioning the path we’ve walked to get here, but her posture remains solid, alert, and steady.
Grace is leaning slightly against the wall, her notebook abandoned on the table, her hands loosely clasped in front of her.
She’s watching us with interest, eyes warm but full of curiosity, as though she’s wondering what this moment truly means to us.
Her gaze flickers to Finn now and again, watching him as he rests in Elena’s arms, soft and content.
He coos, an innocent sound that fills the otherwise formal space, his tiny movements synchronizing with the rhythmic droning of the registrar’s voice.
And then there’s Elena.
Elena, standing before me, effortlessly radiant.
She wears a simple dress, white and modest, its fabric hugging her body in the most natural way possible.
The sweep of her shoulders, the delicate way she holds Finn close, speaks of a grace that is not practiced, not rehearsed, just inherent.
She doesn’t have to try to command the room; she does so without effort, simply by being herself.
The room’s air seems to gather around her in silent acknowledgment of the strength she carries.
I stand beside her, dressed in a standard black suit.
Sharp lines. Formal. The exact opposite of what I’m feeling beneath the fabric and smooth cut.
I feel the walls of my restraint slowly eroding, piece by piece.
Every breath, every second that passes, brings me closer to something I had never expected to have in my life, even though I’d known it was coming.
Today is ours, in every sense. Legal, binding, permanent.
The registrar drones on, his voice steady, but it's just noise in the background now. Words repeated in countless offices, in countless weddings.
“Do you take this man...”
“Do you take this woman...”
They’re familiar words, but today they carry their own unique weight.
Each syllable lands differently. I hear the registrar, of course, but my eyes are locked on Elena.
I see the slight tightening of her hands on Finn, the way she adjusts him in her arms, and the almost imperceptible way her lips press together as she breathes through the moment.
It’s subtle, something she doesn’t think I notice.
But I notice everything. Especially about her.
When it’s my turn to speak, I do so slowly, anchoring myself in the words, in the moment, in the reality of it.
“I, Cormac Brennan, take you, Elena Rowe…”
I pause, just for a moment, to look at her. Her gaze is steady, unwavering. The air between us hums with the understanding of everything that has led us here. Her clarity, her firmness, everything we’ve built together speaks louder than any contract or vow could.
“…to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and in struggle, as long as we both shall live.”
My heart beats just a little faster as the finality of the words settles in. They’ve always been a formality for most. But for us, this feels different. This feels like a choice, not just a promise. A decision, made over time, not in a single flash of romance.
Her eyes never leave mine. Her lips part slightly as she speaks her vows, her tone steady but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper.
“I, Elena Rowe…” she begins, and I hear every inch of the love, the trust, and the commitment she’s made to this moment.
“…take you, Cormac Brennan, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and in struggle, as long as we both shall live.”
The weight of her words lands with equal force. Her commitment mirrors mine, and beneath the legalities, beneath the formalities, there is our private world of emotion, of understanding, of choice.
There’s no hesitation in her voice. She’s here. With me. Always.
The registrar clears his throat and pronounces us married. The words are crisp, final, and for a moment, I feel the world stop spinning around us. It’s done. We are no longer two separate entities. We are bound. Legally, yes, but also in ways that no paperwork could ever fully capture.
I reach for her hand, our fingers meeting over Finn’s tiny form. His little body rests between us, soft and warm, and I feel an overwhelming rush of emotion flood through me. He is the anchor between us, the proof of what we’ve created.
I lean down, my lips brushing softly against hers in a kiss that is just as calculated, just as careful as everything else about me. But in that moment, it’s full of tenderness. Full of everything I feel for her.
Elena’s hand tightens slightly in subtle response, and I don’t pull away. I stay close—not just because it’s the proper thing to do, but because it’s where I need to be. This is ours. This moment. This family.
Finn stirs again between us, his little noises soft, his tiny fingers stretching in the air. It’s as if he knows. As if he understands that, in this moment, everything is exactly as it should be. We are whole. Together.
When I finally pull back, I see Elena’s expression, soft yet resolute, her eyes still locked on mine.
Her lips tremble, not from nerves, but from something else.
Something real. Something that can’t be explained in any simple way.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and yet it’s here, and it’s everything I’ve always known it would be.
This is our beginning, in the truest sense. We’re not just husband and wife in name. We are a family now, bound by everything we’ve chosen, everything we’ve built together.
I reach for her hand again, and she lets me take it, intertwining our fingers as if she’s always been meant to hold onto me.
Her touch grounds me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
I can’t stop myself from looking at Finn again, nestled in the crook of her arm, his little body the final testament to the life we’ve created.
“You did this,” I say, my voice low, filled with a quiet reverence. “You gave me this. I will never let it go.”
Her smile is soft, her eyes tender, but I see the flicker of something else there. It’s the same quiet certainty that has always been between us, the same unwavering trust. She’s chosen this. She’s chosen me.
“Yes,” she whispers, “We did this. Together.”
And for the first time in my life, I feel the weight of everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever needed, resting in the palm of my hand.
I know there’s more to come. More struggles, more adjustments. But for now, we’re exactly where we need to be.
Together.