Chapter 36: The Vow in Her Voice

The rehearsal dinner wasn't extravagant.

No rooftop venue.

No string quartet.

Just soft jazz from a Bluetooth speaker, warm food in mismatched dishes, and twenty-five people who mattered.

Will's childhood friends. Eliza's tiny but loyal circle. Jan and Charlotte, both glowing with quiet pride.

And in the middle of it all: Eliza, holding a wine glass like a shield, heart thudding against her ribs harder than any investor pitch had ever made it.

She wasn't nervous about the wedding.

She was nervous about saying the things that mattered—out loud.

Words had always been her tools.

But never her refuge.

Will's father pulled her aside before dessert.

He was a quiet man. Tall. Gray around the edges. Sharp-eyed in the way that made Eliza uncomfortable—not because he judged her, but because he saw her.

"You're not what I imagined," he said bluntly.

Eliza raised a brow. "Most people say that."

"But you're exactly what Will needs," he added. "And I think you know it."

She blinked. "That supposed to make me feel better?"

He didn't smile. "I don't do comfort. I do truth."

Then, more softly, "Just don't be afraid to show him. Not with strategy. Not with silence. Use your voice."

She stood there for a long time after he left.

Glass forgotten in her hand.

Later that night, she sat at the kitchen table in one of Will's old T-shirts, pen in hand, legal pad blank.

Not because she had nothing to say.

Because she had too much.

A thousand versions of "I love you" clawing for space, and none of them feeling quite… right.

She looked down at the ring on her hand. Still sleek. Still unfamiliar, in some ways.

Then she wrote:

I used to think love was a weakness.A distraction. A liability.Something to outgrow.

But then I met you.And nothing about loving you made me smaller.It made me braver.

You taught me that surrender isn't losing.It's choosing.

That power means nothing if you have no one to build with.That peace isn't found at the top.It's in your hands.Your voice.Your sleep-heavy breathing against my shoulder when you forget you talk in your dreams.

I used to build walls.But now I want to build us.

You are not my perfect.You are my proof.That I am still capable of love.That I am still worth being loved.

So tomorrow, I won't say vows that sound like poetry.I'll say the truth.

And that will be enough.

Will found her there, in the early hours, face resting on her folded arms, pen still in hand.

He pressed a kiss to her crown and whispered, "You're already saying it."