Chapter 9
Six months later, we had our real wedding.
It was small.
Intimate.
Only thirty people.
Liam’s parents.
His best man and his wife.
The board and staff of my nonprofit.
A handful of burn survivors who’d become my closest friends.
No reporters.
No strangers.
No one who’d ever mocked me or hurt me.
We got married in the garden of the big house Liam had bought us in the country.
Surrounded by roses and oak trees and soft, golden sunlight.
I wore a simple white dress.
Sleeveless.
Hair pulled all the way up.
Every scar on my face and arms on full display.
No hiding.
No shame.
I walked down the aisle alone.
But I didn’t feel alone.
I felt my mom there with me.
I could almost feel her hand on my shoulder, hear her telling me how beautiful I was, how proud she was.
Liam was waiting for me at the end of the aisle.
When he saw me, his eyes filled with tears.
I reached him.
He took my hands.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he whispered, so only I could hear.
I smiled.
I believed him.
Our vows were short.
Honest.
Raw.
I promised to love him through every hard day. To stand by him the way he’d stood by me. To never let anyone make me feel small again.
He promised to love every scar, every bad dream, every part of me. To spend the rest of his life making sure I felt safe, and loved, and cherished. To be my family, always.
When he kissed me, the small crowd cheered.
It was perfect.
The whole day was perfect.
We ate good food.
Laughed until our sides hurt.
Danced under the stars.
Margaret danced with me, crying happy tears the whole time, telling me I was the daughter she’d always wanted.
My friends from the nonprofit surrounded me, telling me I was their hero, their inspiration.
But I knew the truth.
They were mine.
Late that night, after everyone had gone home, Liam and I walked out into the garden.
The moon was bright.
The roses smelled like heaven.
He wrapped his arms around me from behind.
Rest his chin on my shoulder.
“Are you happy?” he whispered.
I thought about it.
Thought about the fire.
About Beatrice and Chloe, locked away where they could never hurt anyone again.
About my nonprofit, growing bigger every day, helping more and more people.
About the ring on my finger, made from my mom’s locket.
About the man holding me, who’d loved me when I couldn’t love myself.
Who’d given me back my life.
My voice.
My family.
I leaned back against him.
Felt the steady beat of his heart against my back.
Felt the locket, now on a chain around my neck, resting warm against my chest.
I smiled.
“I’m so happy,” I said, “it hurts a little.”
May you like
He kissed my neck.
“Good,” he said. “You deserve every bit of it.”
