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The wedding was everything I had dreamed of, but not for the reasons I expected. As I walked down the aisle, I didn’t feel like a dying woman playing a part. I felt seen. Elias didn’t just stand at the altar; he stood by me through the chemo, the long, quiet nights in hospice, and the slow, inevitable narrowing of my days. He didn’t pity me; he honored me.
Love, I learned, is not measured by the promises we make when the sun is shining. It is measured by the hands that stay steady when the light begins to fade. I didn’t get the life I planned, but in those final, precious chapters, I found something far more profound: I was not abandoned. I was held. And in the end, that was the only vow that truly mattered.
