I blinked at him–then burst Into laughter. A real one. Not forced. Not polite. Just me, caught between amusement and disbelief.
“Oh, come on,” I grinned, brushing my hair back. “You’re joking, right?”
But Lorenzo’s smile didn’t fade. It softened. “What if I wasn’t?”
That caught me off guard. I stilled, my breath hitching just slightly. “Lorenzo…”
“I’m serious,” he said gently. “I mean, we’ve known each other for what–twenty–something years? And even after everything, I still… I don’t know. Would I even have a chance?”
I looked down at the wooden floor of the gallery. My heart was beating faster, not from fear, but something unfamiliar–hope, maybe. Or maybe it was guilt.
“You know,” I said with a hesitant smile, “I actually regretted choosing Bradley over you back then. You were the safer, kinder choice. But I was young. Stupid. I thought love had to hurt.”
Lorenzo tilted his head. “Don’t make yourself feel guilty now. That was your journey. And maybe it led you here.”
I looked into his eyes. “Still… I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Not now. I’ve just started healing. Finding myself again. I don’t want to lose that.”
“No pressure,” he said quickly, lifting both palms. “Promise. I just wanted to be honest. That’s all. But I meant it–I still want you. Just like I did years ago.”
His words made my cheeks warm. I hadn’t blushed like this in so long, I almost forgot what it felt like. But more than that, I felt seen. Not for what I did or gave, but for who I was.
“For now…“” I said softly, “all I can offer is friendship. That’s all I have to give.”
He smiled gently. “Then I’ll take it. Happily.”
“And you’re okay with that?” I asked, just to be sure.
“I’m not just okay,” he said. “I’ll prove to you that you’re lovable, even if it takes a lifetime.”
That promise lingered with me as the days passed. We worked side by side in the gallery- me curating new pieces, arranging exhibits, helping artists feel at home, and Lorenzo… well, he made sure I felt at home. Every day.
He–brought me coffee just the way I liked it–black with a little brown sugar.
He kept a jar of sunflower seeds at my desk, saying, “For when you need to remember how to grow again.”
He joked about renaming the gallery after me: Joyce & Light.
“I’m not dead yet,” I would tease.
“Exactly,” he’d grin. “Now’s the time to name things after you.”
One afternoon, he took my hand and pulled me into one of the empty gallery rooms.
“What are we doing?” I asked, laughing as he guided me through.
2/2 17.3%
“Something spontaneous,” he said. “Remember how you said you never got a wedding? Never wore the dress. Never had the photos.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yes…?”
“Well,” he grinned, “I thought we could start with a prenup.”
“A prenup?”
“A pre–nuptial shoot. I set up the studio. I’ve got cameras. Backdrops. Even a white dress from the costume room.” He nudged me gently. “It’s just for fun. No expectations. Let me photograph you the way you should’ve been photographed all those years ago.”
I was stunned. My throat tightened. “Lorenzo…”
“Don’t say no yet. Just come see it.”
And so I did. The studio was softly lit, quiet, and warm. The white dress–simple, nothing grand–hung gently from a hook. He had placed flowers on a small table, and music played softly in the background.
I touched the fabric, feeling a lump in my throat. “I…I don’t know if I can…
“Yes, you can,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to be celebrated.”
Tears brimmed in my eyes. “After everything… there’s a man out there who’s still willing to cherish me.”
He didn’t say anything. He just smiled behind the camera, lifting it slowly.
And I nodded.
He took the photos–me standing near the window, smiling in soft light. Me holding a bouquet of sunflowers. Me looking free, not because I was pretending to be a bride, but because, for the first time, I was loving myself.
After a few snaps, I turned toward him, heart full.
“Let’s take one together,” I said.
He lowered the camera. “Really?”
I nodded. “You’ve been here for all of it. You deserve to be in one of the frames.”
He set the camera on a timer and walked over. I stood beside him, and just before the shutter clicked, I leaned my head against his shoulder.
а
The photo captured more than a moment–it captured a promise. Not of marriage. But of healing.
Later that evening, I posted the photo. No caption. Just the image of me in white beside a man who made me feel whole again.
Not long after, Lorenzo’s phone started ringing. He checked the screen, then looked at me, eyes wide.
“It’s your son,” he said quietly.
I froze.
“…Mateo?”
2/2 17.3%
24 MAY
It had been weeks.
