Page 84 of To Her

Yes, you, Geri, because how could it ever be anyone else? I knew you were broken when I met you. It was why I waited, it was why I became your friend, it was why I allowed you to be who you were and still loved you anyway.

I knew the day you sent this to me that I would simply be handing it back to you. I knew in that moment that you were just becoming this version of yourself, that you were putting in the hard work to sort your shit out. I knew that the person who was described in this letter was you, ‘cause I knew I would never marry anyone but you.

So please hurry up and meet me at the end of this aisle. I've been standing here waiting for you for years, and I'm starting to get impatient.

Come and bother me some more, come and sweep me off my feet again, come and make me chase you around town, come and show me the person you are today, ‘cause I loved you when I met you, I loved you when you broke my heart, and I'm going to love this new version even more. ‘Cause you're mine, baby. All mine. And I'm ready for you.

The tearsI'd been holding back spilled over, tracking down my cheeks in hot rivulets. My mother was at my side instantly, dabbing at them with a tissue.

"Don't ruin your makeup," she chided gently, but her own eyes were wet. "What did he write that's got you in such a state?"

I couldn't speak, could only hand her the letter. She read it quickly, then pulled me into a careful hug, mindful of the dress.

"He always knew, didn't he?" she said. "Even when you didn't."

I nodded, still unable to form words around the emotion swelling in my chest. It had been three years since that day in the ski shop when Con had walked back into my life. Three years of careful rebuilding, of learning to trust not just him but myself, of discovering that love wasn't something to run from but something to run toward.

The day he'd appeared in Mountain Gear Rentals had been the beginning of a new chapter—tentative coffee dates that turned into long walks, conversations that stretched into the night, a slow and deliberate courtship that honoured both our history and our growth. We'd taken our time, both of us wary of repeating old patterns, both of us determined to get it right.

And now here we were.

"Ready?" my mother asked, adjusting my veil one last time.

I took a deep breath, feeling the constriction of the corset, the weight of the moment, the fullness of my heart.

"Ready," I said, and I meant it in a way I never had before.

My father was waiting outside the door, his eyes widening when he saw me.

"You look beautiful, Geraldine," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

I took his arm, steadying myself on the unfamiliar heels. The music had started, floating up from the garden below where we'd chosen to hold the ceremony—nothing grand, just our closestfriends and family gathered under a canopy of fairy lights and flowers.

As we descended the stairs and stepped out into the garden, I felt a moment of pure clarity wash over me. This was right. This was where I was meant to be. All the running, all the pain, all the mistakes—they had led me here, to this moment, to this man.

I saw him then, standing at the end of the aisle, tall and handsome in his black suit, his eyes finding mine immediately. The look on his face—a mixture of awe and joy and love so pure it took my breath away—was worth every tear I'd ever cried, every dark night I'd endured, every step of the long journey back to myself.

My father squeezed my arm gently, and we began to walk. The guests turned to watch, but I barely noticed them. My focus was entirely on Con, on the way his eyes never left mine, on the slight tremble in his hands as he clasped them in front of him.

With each step, memories washed over me—that first night at the bar when he'd looked at me like I was the most fascinating person he'd ever met; the mornings waking up beside him, terrified by the intensity of what I felt; the pain in his eyes when I'd pushed him away; the shock and joy of seeing him again in the ski shop; the slow, careful rebuilding of trust between us.

And now this—the culmination of a journey I'd never imagined possible when I was at my lowest, when I'd believed myself unworthy of love, when I'd run from anything that threatened to pierce the armour I'd built around my heart.

As we reached the end of the aisle, my father placed my hand in Con's, the symbolism of the gesture not lost on me. Con's fingers were warm and steady around mine, anchoring me in the moment.

"Hi," he whispered, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Hi," I whispered back, my voice catching. "I got your letter."

A smile broke across his face, transforming it with joy. "And?"

"And I'm here," I said simply. "I'm all yours."

The ceremony passed in a blur of emotion—vows we'd written ourselves, promises made with full awareness of their weight, rings exchanged with hands that trembled with the significance of the moment. When the celebrant pronounced us husband and wife, Con pulled me into a kiss that felt like coming home after a long, difficult journey.

The reception was a celebration of not just our love but of the community that had supported us both—James and Liam, now married themselves; my mother and father, tentatively rekindling their own relationship; my brother and his wife, expecting their first child; Diane and Mei from the ski shop; Eleanor from the oil and vinegar shop who had flown in from England; even Alex, who had finally found happiness with someone who loved him for exactly who he was.

As the night wore on, Con pulled me away from the dancing and laughter, leading me to a quiet corner of the garden where fairy lights twinkled overhead like stars.

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