Page 90 of Never Quite Gone

His voice roughened slightly as he continued: “I choose you with all your beautiful complexities – the way you can spend hours organizing your medical journals but can't make coffee to save your life. The way you honor your past while building our future. The way you've taught me that the greatest courage isn't in never letting go, but in being brave enough to love again knowing that all precious things are temporary.”

Tears slid down my face as he went on, his hands steady in mine: “I promise to be your partner in all things – in morning coffee runs and midnight emergencies, in hospital politics and family dinners, in all the ordinary moments that make up an extraordinary life. I promise to respect the loves that shaped you, to honor the heart that's big enough to hold both memory and possibility. I promise to choose you, every morning, every moment, for all the days we're given in this one precious life.”

When my turn came, my voice shook but my hands were perfectly steady: “Alex, you found me when I thought I was done with love. When I believed my heart could only hold memories, you showed me it could grow to contain new joy. You never asked me to forget or let go – you just made space for yourself beside everything that came before.”

Taking a deep breath, I continued: “I choose you witheverything I am – the broken pieces and the healed ones, the surgeon's precision and the messy humanity, the past that shaped me and the future we'll build together. I choose your morning coffee experiments and midnight work sessions, your passionate rants about historical preservation and your terrible attempts at cooking. I choose the way you love your family, the way you've helped me rebuild mine, the way you understand that hearts only grow bigger when we let them.”

Rachel sniffled beside me as I went on: “I promise to be your safe harbor and your adventure, your best friend and your biggest challenge. I promise to honor your griefs as you've honored mine, to help shoulder your burdens as you've carried me through mine. I promise to choose you every day – not because we're destined, but because we decide to. Because love isn't about fate or magic or eternal bindings. It's about waking up each morning and choosing each other again, knowing that what makes it precious is exactly how fleeting it is.”

By the time I finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the conservatory. Sofia's voice carried both joy and gravity as she led us through the ring exchange. The simple bands held no magic except what we gave them – symbols of choice rather than binding.

William stepped forward then, his voice rough with emotion as he performed the traditional Rothschild family blessing. “May your love be as enduring as stone,” he began, then paused, amending slightly: “And as alive as gardens in spring. May you find joy in choosing each other anew each day, and peace in building one extraordinary life together.”

When Sofia pronounced us married, our kiss tasted of future rather than memory. Of promises made freely rather than bound by fate. Of love chosen every day rather than destined across time.

The conservatory erupted in cheers as we turned to face our family and friends. Sarah woke just then, her happy gurgle making everyone laugh through their tears. This was what we'd chosen –not eternal repetition but one perfect, precious life surrounded by people we loved.

Alex's hands were warm in mine as we walked back down the aisle together. Sunlight painted everything in colors that needed no ancient magic to feel miraculous. This was better than fate, better than destiny, better than any pattern written in stars or blood.

This was love chosen freely, lived fully, precious because it would end someday but magnificent because we'd choose it every day until then.

This was everything Will had never understood, everything Vale had died helping us remember: that the greatest magic isn't in binding souls together, but in letting them choose each other every morning despite knowing loss is possible.

This was us, writing our own story instead of repeating ancient ones.

This was love, pure and simple and mortal and perfect.

This was enough.

The estate's ballroom filled with light and laughter, modern joy in an ancient space. David spun Rachel across the dance floor, her dress flowing as she moved. Sarah, secure in Emma's arms, delighted the guests by throwing flower petals at Marcus whenever he passed. His immortal dignity didn't stop him from playing along, pretending to dodge while making the baby giggle.

Sofia and Emma shared secret smiles across the room, their own renewal ceremony planned for spring. After twenty years together, they'd decided to celebrate their love properly, with all the recognition they'd once been denied. The way Emma's hand found Sofia's, the quiet certainty in their touches – it made my heart full to see love that had grown stronger through ordinary time.

William held court near the cake, telling stories about Will'schildhood pranks with the kind of laughter that honored grief rather than denied it. “He once replaced all my business papers with crayon drawings,” he said, eyes bright with memory. “Perfect forgeries, down to my signature. He was seven.” The gathered guests laughed, letting themselves remember the brother and son Will had been before tragedy twisted his love.

“He sounds like a handful,” my mother said warmly, and William's smile held both pain and joy.

“The best kind of handful,” he agreed. “Always trying to take care of everyone, even then.”

They'd learned what I was still learning – that joy and grief could dance together without diminishing either. That remembering what was lost didn't mean giving up what was found.

During a quiet moment between dances, Alex's hand found mine. No words were needed as we slipped away to the small family chapel where two graves rested side by side. Our wedding flowers joined the herbs growing wild around Vale's headstone, life continuing in its own way.

“Thank you,” Alex whispered – to Vale for his sacrifice, to Will for loving too much, to all the paths that led us here. My hand found his, steady and sure as any surgeon's grip.

We left pinecones on Will's grave, a childhood joke turned memorial. Alex had told me the story – how little Will would collect pinecones, convinced they were nature's secret messages. He'd leave them in Alex's shoes, on his desk, anywhere they might be found, each one carrying brotherly love in its simple form.

The reception welcomed us back with warmth and music. Sofia caught my eye, her smile knowing but gentle as she danced with Emma. Rachel had reclaimed Sarah, swaying with her sleeping daughter while David watched them both with undisguised adoration.

Our first dance as husbands felt both new and eternal. The string quartet played something that might have been many things before becoming simply ours. William watched with damp eyes while Rachel hugged Sofia, both of them pretendingnot to cry. The moment held everything – past and present, joy and grief, memory and possibility.

“Happy?” Alex asked softly as we moved together.

“More than,” I replied, meaning it completely. “This is better than destiny.”

Sarah woke just then, her happy burble making everyone laugh. She reached for Marcus as he passed, tiny fingers grasping his perfectly pressed suit. The sight of an immortal guardian melting under baby charm felt like proof that life moved forward in the best ways.

“Will would have loved being an uncle,” Alex said quietly, but his voice held more joy than pain. “He would have spoiled her rotten.”

---