The night before my wedding, I stood by the window of our hotel suite overlooking the port, watching the cruise ship glow like a floating palace. I had dreamed about this day for years–no, decades. And now, it was here. Not as a plea, not as a favor from someone who’d forgotten me, but as a choice–my choice, with the man who truly loved me.
Lorenzo sat on the couch behind me, sipping wine. “You heard the news?” he asked gently. I didn’t have to ask what he meant. Everyone had heard by now.
Maine.
The scandals. The downfall. The exposed lies. The interviews pulled. The endorsements revoked. I even saw one photo of her online–hiding under a hood, slipping out the back door of a luxury building like a ghost.
I turned from the window, sat beside Lorenzo, and gave him a small smile. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You sure?” he asked, his hand slipping into mine.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Let her hide. That’s for the better now.”
He nodded. “And you? What do you want to do tonight?”
I looked at him, heart full. “Nothing.” I said. “Just this. You. And tomorrow.”
He leaned in and kissed me–slow, tender, patient. “Then we’ll make tomorrow the beginning of everything.”
Later that night, as I finished packing the last of the things we’d bring onto the ship, I noticed a stack of boxes had arrived at the reception desk of the hotel. Gifts.
I hadn’t invited them. But somehow–I knew.
Each box came with a letter. I didn’t open them right away. I sat for a long time, staring at them on the table. Finally, curiosity gave in.
The letters were simple, heartfelt. Apologies. Memories. Regrets.
Bradley’s handwriting shook slightly. “You were never invisible. I just refused to see.”
Mateo’s letter came with a tiny sonogram photo. “I hope my child learns from me. I hope I learn from you.”
Joseph’s was the hardest to read. “I failed you. And I will spend the rest of my days. accepting that truth.”
I wept softly. Not from pain, bút from release.
I didn’t reply. I wasn’t ready to let them in. Not yet.
But I forgave them, quietly, in the softest place in my heart.
The next morning, I woke to sunlight and sea air.
Our wedding day.
I stepped onto the cruise ship wearing a white satin dress that shimmered with the
Chanter 25
2/2 33.31
stepped onto the cruise ship wearing a white satin dress that shimmered with the
morning light. My hair was loosely pinned, with tiny pearls scattered through it like stars. The air was fresh, and the ocean stretched around us like an endless promise.
The ceremony was small and intimate. Just a few close friends from the gallery, Lorenzo’s sister, and some of our dearest supporters.
As I walked toward him–Lorenzo in a pale gray suit, eyes glassy and full of wonder–1 felt time slow.
He held my hands. “You are everything I ever wanted, Joyce. Thank you for choosing me.” Tears slipped down my cheeks. “Thank you for finding me.
We said our vows beneath a wide blue sky, the waves crashing gently in the distance.
Our first kiss as husband and wife was sweet and quiet–two people who had endured and grown and healed into each other.
That night, the cruise hosted a small dinner in our honor. Candles flickered in the sea breeze. Music drifted softly across the deck. We danced beneath the stars, holding each other as if nothing else existed.
And for the first time in my life, I felt complete.
The weeks that followed were a blur of laughter and light.
When we returned home, the gallery was waiting for me, and so were the people. My name had grown. Invitations came for exhibits, interviews, articles.
Months passed, and I received word that I’d won an award for artistic impact. On the night of the ceremony, as I stood on the stage, thanking those who had supported my rebirth, I caught sight of three familiar faces in the back row.
Bradley. Mateo. Joseph.
They didn’t come forward. They didn’t interrupt. They just watched, quiet and still, and when our eyes met–I smiled.
And they smiled back. That was enough.
Later that year, I received an invitation to my grandchild’s welcome party. Mateo and Sasha had written it themselves. I held the card in my hand, feeling its warmth.
I didn’t go.
But I sent a hand–painted music box, wrapped with care, with a note that read: May your child grow up surrounded by love, truth, and kindness.
Somewhere in the world, Bradley probably still thought of me. Maine likely still resented me. And Joseph–he probably still wrestled with guilt.
But I wasn’t angry anymore.
Because my life–my real life–had just begun.
With Lorenzo beside me, canvas in front of me, and the sea always calling–I was finally
home.
