Chapter 23
But here I was – standing in the quiet stillness of a little sunlit greenhouse tucked deep in the English countryside, surrounded by fresh lavender, eucalyptus, and soft petals of blush-toned roses. The scent reminded me of safety, of everything I’d fought for, everything I’d become.
A soft breeze filtered through the open glass panels, fluttering the gauzy veil draped behind me. No grand cathedral, no hundreds of guests, just the soft hum of birds outside and the warmth of love that finally felt real.
And Parker…
He stood at the other end of the aisle, under a simple arch of wildflowers, in a light gray suit that brought out the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. He wasn’t smiling too big, just a quiet, steady look – like I was the only thing that existed in the room. And maybe I was.
My heart beat slower than I thought it would. I wasn’t nervous, not like before.
I was sure.
There were only twenty people in the room – his godmother, my old professor from design school, Alex’s mother, who now insisted I call her my real family, even a few coworkers who had stood by me during the hardest days. Parker’s best friend served as the officiant. No press, no fanfare.
No ghosts.
Just us.
The music was soft, acoustic, the strings of a cello weaving a love song without words as I walked down the aisle.
Every step felt like a goodbye – to who I used to be, to the girl who waited up for someone who never came home, to the woman who burned love letters and cried herself to sleep, to the ghost I had carried for far too long.
And every step closer to Parker felt like a beginning.
When I reached him, he took my hand – his thumb brushing over my knuckles like a silent vow – and whispered, “You’re breathtaking.”
I smiled up at him, feeling it all settle in my chest like the final puzzle piece clicking into place.
The officiant cleared his throat gently, smiling at both of us. “We’ve gathered here today to celebrate the union of two people who chose love – not the easy kind, but the resilient kind, the kind that waits patiently in the wings until it’s finally seen.”
I blinked fast, holding Parker’s gaze.
“Parker,” I said softly, my voice steadier than I expected, “You came into my life when I thought there was nothing left of me. And instead of asking me to be whole, you sat beside me while I put myself back together. You never rushed me, you never questioned me, you just… stayed.”
A tear slid down my cheek, but it didn’t feel like pain. It felt like freedom.
“I don’t promise perfection,” I whispered, “but I promise honesty, safety, the kind of love that never makes either of us feel small again. I promise to build a life with you that looks like us – quiet, steady, full of laughter and late-night dancing in the kitchen.”
Parker gave a soft laugh and reached up to wipe my cheek with his thumb.
“I knew it from the café,” he began, voice deep but tender. “You were sitting there, crying silently but refusing to fall apart. And I remember thinking – that’s someone who survived something big. But I didn’t know how big. I didn’t know how beautiful your strength was until I watched you rise from the ashes of your old life and start again. You didn’t need saving, you just needed to be seen.”
His voice broke, and he didn’t care.
“I promise to see you every day, to never take your light for granted, and to always hold space for you to be exactly who you are – messy, brilliant, and impossibly kind.”
I didn’t cry hard, just enough, just enough to know this wasn’t a dream.
The officiant smiled at us gently. “Do you, Lindsey, take Parker to be your husband, to walk beside him in laughter and storm, to be his partner, his best friend, his home?”
I looked into Parker’s eyes, eyes that never once flinched at my baggage, and I said clearly, “I do.”
The officiant turned. “And do you, Parker, take Lindsey to be your wife, to cherish her, to protect her peace, and to love her fiercely for the rest of your days?”
“I do,” he said without a pause.
“Then by the power vested in me by absolutely no one Lindsey owes an apology to,” the officiant joked, “I pronounce you husband and wife. Parker, kiss your bride.”
And when he kissed me – soft, sure, trembling just slightly – it felt like the start of forever.
Third Person POV
Alex stood just outside the glass-paneled greenhouse, hidden behind a cluster of trees that overlooked the quiet countryside venue. He hadn’t planned to come – not really. But some twisted, masochistic part of him needed to see it, to see her, one last time.
Through the glass, he saw her.
Lindsey.
In white.
Laughing, smiling like the weight of the world had finally lifted. She looked… free, lighter than he had ever seen her, radiant, even. And beside her stood Parker Wilson – her new husband.
Alex clenched the edge of the wooden post beside him, breath catching in his throat. Parker wasn’t touching her possessively. He held her like she was something sacred, precious. And she leaned into it, unafraid, safe.
He felt the sting long before the first tear fell. He had lost her.
Not because of the divorce, not even because she walked away, but because now… she belonged to someone else. Her smile, her peace, her future – it wasn’t his anymore, and it never would be again.
Alex tried to tell himself she would’ve come back eventually, that she just needed time, that all the silence was temporary. But seeing her now – with another man, in a gown meant for a second chance – shattered every delusion he had left.
He had destroyed the one person who would’ve walked through fire for him. He’d traded devotion for excitement, loyalty for lust, love for power.
And now, he was alone. She didn’t even look his way, didn’t sense him, didn’t pause.
Because she had moved on.
And Alex…
Alex didn’t know what to do anymore.
There was no plan, no manipulation to fix this.
She was gone, truly gone.
And for the first time in his life…
He realized no amount of regret would ever bring her back.