The way she’s loved me even when I wasn’t sure how to be loved.
The way she pulled me back when I was disappearing into myself.
The way she made me a man who wanted more than just survival.
Her mouth curves—not into a smile, not exactly—but something more intimate. Something that says we’ve made it.
She leans in, voice low. “I love the painting so much, Alex. It’s amazing.”
“You’re amazing.”
The officiant begins speaking, and I barely register the words. My mind writes its own vows in silence, too sacred for anyone else to hear.
I promise to wake up every day and choose you––when it’s easy and when it’s not. I promise to protect you. And never stop reaching for you. Never stop wanting you. Never stop becoming the man you saw in me before I could see him for myself. You are my resurrection, Magnolia Elizabeth Steel… Sebring.
The official vows come next. Simple. Spoken aloud.
“Do you, Alexander Björn Sebring III, take Magnolia Elizabeth Steel to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” My voice is rough, but it doesn’t shake.
“Do you, Magnolia Elizabeth Steel, take Alexander Björn Sebring III to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her eyes don’t leave mine. “I do.”
“We now come to the exchange of rings—a tradition that seals your vows in a circle of unbroken promise.”
Elias steps forward with the box, and I take it from his hands. The lid lifts with a soft click, and there it is—her ring, waiting for this moment. My fingers are steady as I lift it free and slide it onto hers.
“With this ring, I give you every part of me—my past, my future, my name, my loyalty. You’ve had my heart since the first night. This just makes it official.”
She holds my gaze as she lifts my ring—her fingers trembling. She slides the band over my knuckle and speaks, voice soft but certain.
“With this ring, I choose you again and again—on your good days, on your hard ones, when you’re strong, and when you’re struggling.”
The officiant announces, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
There’s something sacred about being given permission to kiss your wife.
The moment our mouths meet, the world exhales. And I don’t just kiss her. I claim her.
I’m kissing an angel I still don’t fully believe I deserve. Her hands rise to my chest. My arm slips around her waist, careful of the dress but not of the urgency.
There’s a rustle of applause behind us, but I barely hear it.
I lean in, mouth brushing her ear. “Mine.”
She exhales. “Always.”
We’re forehead to forehead, and I don’t open my eyes right away. I want to live in this breath for as long as I can.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Björn Sebring III.”
The truest vow I’ve ever made hasn’t been spoken aloud. It’s been lived––broken and rebuilt––etched into my skin through every scar that led me here. And now it lives in the way I carry her name with mine. Not just as my wife. But as the woman who brought me back to life.
She laughs—soft, then brighter—and it pulls me back to earth.
Still holding her hand, I turn with her to face the crowd. Her fingers stay laced with mine, firm and sure.
