Page 83 of Loving Lauren
“So I vow to choose you every single day. To stand beside you when life is easy, and especially when it’s not. To build our home, one shared morning, one terrible joke, one strategic cat bribery at a time. You are my safe harbor and my greatest adventure. Whatever comes next, we’ll figure it out together.”
Lauren’s hands shook as they pulled out a folded piece of paper, already softened at the edges from being read and reread. They looked up at Sierra and smiled like nothing else in the world existed.
“Sierra,” they said, voice thick with emotion, “you saw me. Really, truly saw me, even before I was ready to be seen. You never asked me to be smaller or different or faster in my healing. You just created space, and in that space, I found the courage to become myself. You made being loved feel safe.
“I used to think healing was something that happened in isolation, but you showed me it could happen hand in hand with someone who believes in you. I vow to keep showing up, to meet you exactly where you are, to laugh and cry and fight fairly and love fiercely. I vow to remind you how extraordinary you are when you forget. You are the home I didn’t know I was searching for.”
The officiant paused, wiping away tears that definitely weren’t supposed to be part of the ceremony.
“By the power vested in me, and by the love that brought you both here today, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss!”
The crowd erupted as Sierra and Lauren kissed, slow and anchored in everything they’d survived and everything they still hoped for. There were cheers, applause, and definitely more crying than anyone had planned.
Later, as the reception was in full swing and champagne bottles popped open with fizzy celebration, someone pressed a glass into Sierra’s hand. She shook her head gently, setting it aside untouched.
Lauren caught the motion immediately, tilting their head with a curious smile. “Not feeling like celebrating with champagne, wifey?”
Sierra’s heart fluttered. “Oh, I’m definitely celebrating. Just... maybe not with alcohol.”
Lauren blinked once, then their eyes went wide. “Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Sierra nodded, heart hammering with excitement and nerves. “I took a test this morning. I was going to tell you tonight when we got home, but this feels like the most perfect moment possible.”
Lauren froze for half a heartbeat. Then their hands flew to Sierra’s waist, eyes filling with stunned, reverent joy. “You’re pregnant? We’re having a baby?”
“Yes, we are,” Sierra whispered, placing her hand over Lauren’s. “We’re doing this.”
Lauren let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “I can’t believe it happened so quickly. I hoped, but I didn’t dare expect—”
“It happened,” Sierra interrupted softly. “We happened.”
Sierra’s mother, who had been eavesdropping shamelessly from a few feet away, gasped loud enough for half the reception to hear. “Oh my God, I’m going to be a grandmother! I get to spoil a grandbaby!”
Salem, still trapped in her arms, let out an indignant yowl and slapped her cheek with his paw.
Sierra grinned down at him. “Don’t worry, Your Royal Majesty. You’ll still be the most spoiled creature in our house.”
“Well, mostly,” Lauren said with a laugh.
They turned back to each other, pressing their foreheads together, Lauren’s hands still curved protectively over Sierra’s stomach where their child was growing. The fairy lights overhead swayed in the breeze like stars dipping low just to watch.
“I love you so much,” Sierra whispered.
Lauren kissed her again, soft and reverent. “I love both of you. All of us.”
And there, under the fairy lights with their chosen family cheering around them, surrounded by every person who mattered, including one very judgmental cat, the next chapter of their story began—with overwhelming joy, boundless hope, and hearts so full they could barely contain it all.
Epilogue
Sierra stood at the front of the conference room at the LGBTQIA+ Youth Alliance, watching familiar faces from her community center classes mix with new ones—social workers, counselors, parents clutching informational pamphlets with uncertain but hopeful expressions. Her healing through art program had grown beyond anything she’d imagined, expanding to three other community centers, two domestic violence shelters, and now this.
She adjusted the mic, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “When I first started teaching these classes, I thought it was just about putting charcoal on paper, splattering paint, trying to process the noise inside.” She smiled at the rows of faces. “But what I’ve seen is that it isn’t really about the art at all. It’s about how people look at themselves while they’re creating. It’s about seeing yourself with even a little compassion when that feels impossible everywhere else.”
On the screen behind her, she clicked through slides showing student work, anonymous pieces she’d been given permissionto share. A jagged landscape with colors clashing, a face half in shadow, a heart stitched back together with messy red thread.
“These aren’t polished.” She gestured toward the images. “But that’s the point. None of us come into this whole. Art doesn’t erase what happened to you, but it gives you somewhere to set it down for a while. A place to pick it up, turn it around, and decide what pieces you want to carry forward... and what you’re ready to leave behind.”
Her throat tightened, but she pressed on. “When I first picked up a camera again after everything, I thought I had nothing left. But then I realized even the pictures I thought were mistakes told the truth. A blurry edge, a crooked smile, a scar showing. Those were the moments that mattered. Because healing isn’t about hiding the cracks. It’s about letting them be part of the frame.”
