Page 5 of My Only

Before I faced the world and got swept into the whirlwind of my wedding day, I let myself bawl.

I may have never dreamed of my wedding, but I knew that when the time came, my father would walk me down the aisle.

I wished he could see me like this—happy, in love, on the arm of the woman who raised me.

I imagined him cracking a joke under his breath, probably making some remark about Hassani’s nerves. The thought made me smile, even as the ache of his absence pressed against my ribs.

I blinked, pushing away the sting of tears.

This was a day for love.

And love, I knew, had a way of carrying us through loss.

Yet and still, it hurt me deep in a place I couldn’t reach to soothe—that my dad wasn’t here. There wasn’t a day I didn’t miss him, no matter how much time had passed.

My mother tightened her grip on my biceps as we moved farther down the aisle.

Expecting to see fresh tears in her eyes, I glanced at her again, only to be met with a huge smile.

“You look beautiful, Ayla,” she whispered. “So very beautiful.”

I smiled.

“And I know I’ve said that a lot today, but you truly do.”

“Well, I had the best seamstress in the world to make my dress.”

She giggled. “I don’t just mean the dress, Ayla.” My mother leaned in, hugging my arm a little tighter. “There’s not enough lace in the world to compete with the natural glow you have today, beloved.”

We were only steps away when she added, “Your father would have been so proud. I’m very proud of you.”

The tears I thought I had under control threatened to fall. I had to fight like hell to keep them back.

I focused ahead, finding Hassani watching me as I approached. He must’ve swallowed at least twenty times as I got closer, visibly emotional. His hazel-green eyes glistened, his lids slightly red-rimmed as he fought back tears of his own.

I could not believe us.

Over here being so damn emotional.

He looked amazing in a tailored linen suit, a boutonnière of tropical flowers pinned to his chest.

We were finally doing it.

And as much as I was overjoyed, a small part of me was nervous too. These past four years, after reconnecting, had been nothing but bliss. I wondered if we could maintain that as husband and wife.

The moment my mother and I reached the end of the aisle, Hassani’s smile was so wide I could count every one of his teeth. That just made my smile even bigger.

Our officiant, Reverend Malachi Harte, smiled brightly at us. Hassani’s parents, Joslyn and Percy Franklin, had known Reverend Harte their whole lives—they’d all grown up together. Mr. and Mrs. Franklin had promised he would be the best person to officiate our wedding, explaining how he was known in the community for his deeply personal and meaningful messages for couples.

“Good evening, family and friends,” Reverend Harte began. “We are gathered here today, under the setting sun and the watchful eye of the Creator, to celebrate a love that is pure, steadfast, and inspiring.”

My mother nodded softly.

“Ayla and Hassani,” he continued, glancing between us, “you have chosen this beautiful place, surrounded by the sea and sky, as the setting for the vows you are about to make.” He gestured with a hand. “A place as vast and enduring as the love you share. Today, we honor not just the union of two hearts but the bond of two souls who have chosen to walk through life together, side by side.”

Then, Reverend Harte turned to my mother.

“So now, I ask: Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

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