Two Hearts, One Wedding

[Zovira]

I like how you show their everyday moments and little gestures, it really brings the story to life

[Claire]

@Zovira Welcome to the Academy, nice to see you posting! In case you didn't know, @RapeU wrote two other stories featuring Wendy and Hannah.

• The Blowout
• Two Broken, One Whole

[RapeU]

I like how you show their everyday moments and little gestures, it really brings the story to life

Thank you! It's always encouraging to get a comment on an unfinished story. It helps with the motivation to keep going

Let me get this off my chest...

I hate weddings, in practice as in theory.

That's why the last chapters didn't get 3 points from me.

Otherwise it's going great, the interaction between Wendy and Zoe, Wendy's narration -- just somethign to read and admire. Waiting for the next chapter to come... well, perhaps not the very next one!

I would encourage you to read the chapter. There is something specific that happens which will be the beginning of another future story. Also, it's going to make the lesbian sex that much sweeter when you get to it.

[RapeU]

Chapter Tags: No sex, story
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Chapter 6 Wedding Ceremony

Renee stopped me after a few steps. “Zoe goes first,” she said in a kind, patient tone, “Stop when you reach the double doors.” I looked at Zoe and she made an encouraging face, one that said: You’ve got this. My breath let out in a whoosh as I started to follow Zoe out the door and into the corridor. The hallway was a beautiful blur of white lilies, blue delphiniums, and sunflowers. Every detail felt intentional, thoughtful, chosen. Hannah had truly outdone herself. All for me, for us.

The double doors loomed ahead, massive and impossibly beautiful, painted a soft gold that caught the sunlight pouring through the tall windows. Zoe stopped at the threshold. I halted a few steps behind her, my pulse loud in my ears. Renee leaned in toward Zoe and murmured something I couldn’t hear. Zoe nodded once, squared her shoulders, and stepped through the doors. They closed behind her with a gentle finality.

Renee turned back to me and gestured me forward until I stood directly in front of them. “In a moment, the music will change to the wedding march,” she said quietly. “Wait for the note on the word bride.” She paused and asked “You know the one?” I nodded, butterflies ricocheting through my chest. “Take your time,” she added. “Go slow. Remember, you are a beautiful queen.”

The music shifted, the doors opened wide to a glowing perfect room. Polished wood floors reflected the light streaming in through the tall windows. Thick white petals lined the aisle, softening every step. At the altar, sunflowers and blue delphiniums curved into a living arch, their faces open as if they were witnesses themselves. The air smelled clean and green and alive. I stepped forward on the note Renee had named, moving slowly, almost reverently. My eyes skimmed the crowd. Hannah’s parents were on one side, smiling openly, pride written across their faces. My parents were on the other, still and unreadable. Then, I saw Hannah.

The sight of Hannah almost knocked the air out of my chest. She wore an ivory suit tailored more perfect than anything else in the world. The jacket was buttoned clean, her shoulders squared, her posture unmistakably sure. A sapphire blue tie cut a precise line down her chest, echoing the blue of the delphiniums. Her red hair was slicked back, disciplined and wild all at once.

What truly took my breath away wasn’t how stunning she looked, but how steady she was. She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t wavering. Her posture told me she was totally confident about what we were doing. Every part of her silently told me she was choosing me. Something in my chest loosened. With every step down the aisle, the butterflies quieted, replaced by a certainty that felt warm and solid and inevitable. I was walking toward home.

Hannah’s face was dazzling and radiant. She watched me the way people watch the ocean, with a mixture of longing and total awe. Our eyes locked, and my heart grew. The air up front was thick with flowers and sunlight. The officiant, a woman with a gentle, open face and a voice that sounded like she’d spent her life reading to children, gestured for me to join Hannah. I stepped up, the wood giving a soft creak under my foot, and stood there, suddenly dizzy from how close we were. Hannah reached out, took my hand, and just like that, the world made sense again. Her grip was warm and firm. She squeezed, her thumb stroking over the back of my hand, and I thought I might melt into a puddle right there in front of everyone. “You’re beautiful,” Hannah whispered. “You’re stunning,” I whispered back.

For a moment, we just stood there, wrapped up in each other. The rest of the room faded out into background noise: the rustling of programs, the coughs, and the click of someone’s phone camera. The officiant waited, giving us a moment to settle, and I could tell she had everything under control. The way she smiled at us was so gentle it almost made me cry.

I inhaled, the scent of Hannah’s perfume and the flowers hitting me all at once, and when I exhaled, I felt a little steadier. I glanced over Hannah’s shoulder and saw Aisha, standing tall and stone faced but with eyes shining. It was almost too much. Everything I’d wanted and everything I’d feared, right here in a single moment, sharpened down to the pressure of Hannah’s hand in mine and the way the sunlight caught in her hair.

The officiant cleared her throat, voice clear and bright, and for the first time, I realized the room had gone utterly silent. All eyes were on us. She began with a practiced, calming smile, hands folded at her waist, voice carrying just enough to reach the back row without being a shout. “Dearly beloved, we gather here today…” and in that moment, I could finally breathe. Hannah’s grip on my fingers was as fierce as ever, her thumb tracing lazy circles on my wrist, and if I’d had to recite my own name just then, I’d have needed to look at my driver’s license.

The opening was mercifully brief, full of thanking people for making it out on a frigid February afternoon and soft jokes about how the only thing more intimidating than winter was wedding planning. The audience tittered, and somewhere in the front I heard Hannah’s mother’s distinctive snort laugh, which made my heart twist a little. The officiant then turned more serious, shifting her tone in a way that commanded attention.

“Today isn’t just about joining two lives. It’s about honoring the journey that brought them here. Wendy and Hannah have navigated challenges…” she paused, as if choosing her words with great care then continued, “that would test the limits of any relationship. Yet through every trial, they held onto each other, to love and trust, and the hope for a better tomorrow.”

She let that land. The words didn’t say what happened, but everyone who knew us could read between the lines. I found myself looking down at the blue pen in my hand, feeling the weight of everything we’d carried, and somehow, I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to laugh and scream and punch the air because we were here, not there, and no one could take that from us.

The officiant continued, voice gentle. “If anyone here knows a reason these two should not be joined in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” My whole body tensed. It was an absurd moment, one everyone always laughed about in movies. But my parents were in the audience, and their threat to object was very real. The hair on my neck bristled like it was waiting for a static shock. I looked sideways at Hannah, who was already watching me, and she nodded once, as if to say, “I got you.” The silence stretched. I saw my mother’s jaw working, but she stayed put, hands flat in her lap, face unreadable. For a wild second I thought we were in the clear and Zoe’s talk with my parents worked.

Then, a female voice broke the silence. “Wait!” The word echoed like a gunshot. My heart stopped. I turned, expecting to see my mom standing, lips drawn, ready to deliver some final, devastating blow. But it wasn’t her.

Amanda Barkley was on her feet at the very back of the crowd. She looked flushed and determined. For a heartbeat, the world skewed. The flowers, light, and even Hannah blurred. Then Aisha’s hand shot up like a flare, and two ushers appeared. They didn’t grab Amanda, just walked up and bracketed her with gentle, insistent presence. To her credit, Amanda only hesitated a fraction of a second before allowing herself to be escorted out.

Before they passed through the double doors, Amanda glanced back one last time. Her eyes locked onto mine with a look that made me deeply uncomfortable. It was a look that felt like a heavy weight, like she was stripping me with her eyes. Her look made me feel dirty, like there was something wrong with me. Next to me, Hannah leaned close, lips almost on my ear. “You okay?” she whispered. Her voice snapped me back to the reality that we were getting married. “Are you?” I whispered back. She grinned, soft and wild. “Never better.” For a second, it was just us again, the two of us at the center of the universe, the rest of the world orbiting quietly. I could feel the adrenaline starting to fade, replaced by a giddy, shaky euphoria. We’d survived. Again.

The officiant cleared her throat, giving the room a second to collect itself, and then continued, her tone bright and unflappable. “Well, if there are no further objections…” She let it hang for a beat, just long enough to get a gentle laugh from the crowd, before inviting us to join hands again and proceed. I reached for Hannah, and this time, my hand was steady. She took it in both of hers, squeezing until our knuckles pressed white together. We were back on track, a little battered but unbroken. I looked up at the arch of flowers overhead, the sunlight pouring through the tall windows, and for the first time in my life, I felt not just seen, but safe.

The officiant continued the ceremony, voice a soft contrast against the current of excitement and relief. Her calm voice settled the nerves within me Amanda had triggered. “Wendy and Hannah have prepared personal vows for each other. Hannah, would you like to begin?”

“Wendy,” Hannah began, and her voice was steady in a way that felt earned, not practiced. “Before I met you, I believed my life only worked if every detail was planned. I thought preparedness was the same thing as safety.” She paused and smiled. “And then you showed up. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just…everywhere. In half formed ideas and wrong turns and moments that weren’t on any schedule.” Her thumbs brushed slow circles over my hands. “With anyone else, that would have terrified me. But you, your chaos fascinated me. You made the world feel larger instead of sharper. Possible instead of dangerous.” Her voice stayed calm, unwavering. “You taught me that safety isn’t control. It’s trust. It’s knowing someone will stay when the plan collapses.” Then, quieter. So quiet the room leaned in. “I didn’t know I was lonely until you made me feel whole.”

She paused for a breath and it reminded me to breathe. Then she continued, stronger now, conviction threading every word. “I promise you a love that meets you where you are: curious, brave, a little reckless. I promise to be your calm when your thoughts race, and your anchor when the ground feels unsteady. I vow to keep learning you, even as you change, even as we grow. I will celebrate your joy without trying to contain it, and I will hold your pain without trying to fix it.” She squeezed my hand once. “I promise to build a life with you that is warm and honest and real. A place where you never have to earn your belonging. A place where you are safe to be exactly who you are.” Her voice softened again, devastating in its certainty. “You are not a detour from the life I planned,” she said. “You are the life I was planning for.”

Tears burned my eyes and I let out a little squeak. Hannah’s smile became warmer somehow and she continued, “You’ve shown me a depth of love I didn’t know how to imagine, one that makes the ordinary luminous and the hard survivable. My love for you isn’t fleeting. It’s chosen. Again and again.” She took a breath and spoke louder with absolute conviction, “Wendy, I love you. I choose you. Today, tomorrow, and every day that follows. For all of our days.” She paused, and said the line that made my heart explode, “You’re the only thing I never write down.”

My whole body exploded with goosebumps and I remembered something she repeated often, that I was always on her list. The officiant handed me a tissue to wipe the tears from my cheeks. Then she handed tissues to Zoe and Aisha, who I could hear sniffling. Hannah’s parents were beaming with pride while simultaneously wiping their eyes. I didn’t dare look back toward my own lest it ruin the moment.

In a subtly wavering voice, the officiant said, “Wendy, your vows,” and nodded to me. I took a few steadying breaths to center myself. Then, I spoke from my heart. “Hannah,” I began, my voice soft but steady, carrying all the history and hope I felt. “My love. My partner. My home. I remember the first time I saw you at the campus bookstore. We reached for the same book, and I don’t know why, but I felt…excited. Excited to share a class with you, to be near you.” I squeezed her hand. “On the first day of class, I noticed how organized you were. Everything you owned was perfectly in place. If it had been anyone else, it might have intimidated me. But you? You fascinated me. You drew me in. Not a lightning bolt, not a dramatic scene. Just…quiet, profound, and undeniable. In those small, everyday moments, I began to fall for you, and then I fell completely, and I knew my life would never be the same.”

I took a moment to breathe and saw Hannah's eyes tremble with happy tears. “You were the first person who didn’t ask me to be less. Or more. Or anything but exactly me. Even on the worst days, you saw a version of me I hadn’t known existed, and you loved her anyway.” I paused, letting the weight of that truth settle. “I vow to you that I will always see you, truly see you, in all your brilliance, all your chaos, all your quiet strength. I promise to celebrate your victories, to cradle your fears, to hold you when the world feels unsteady. I vow to listen not just to your words, but to the spaces between them, the silences that carry your heart. I promise to be your home, the place where you never have to armor yourself, where you can be wholly and completely, undeniably you. I vow to build with you, not just a life, but a sanctuary filled with laughter, warmth, and the unwavering certainty of us.”

My voice dropped, softer, intimate. “I promise to continue exploring the world with you, to embrace every new adventure with the wonder and daring that you bring. I vow to support your dreams, even the impossible ones, and to be the steady hand that helps you reach for them. I promise to forgive your imperfections, as you forgive mine, because it is in our shared vulnerabilities, our humanity, that our deepest connection grows. I vow to love you not just in the easy moments, but in the storms, in the doubts, in every moment that tries to pull us apart. I promise to be your constant, your anchor, your fiercest advocate, today and for all the tomorrows that await us.”

My lips trembled as I continued, letting the truth of every word hang between us. “You are the missing piece I never knew I was searching for. The calm in my chaos, the light in my darkest hours. You are home, Hannah, the place I never have to fear. I promise to make you laugh, to keep you honest, to kiss you goodnight even when we’re exhausted beyond measure.” I glanced down at the blue pen in my hand. “And I promise to write our story every day, even if sometimes it’s just a line in the margins. You are, quite simply, everything. I love you, Hannah, with the kind of love that never has to be written down to be real.”

The officiant gave out tissues to Hannah, Zoe, and Aisha after I was finished with my vows. When I glanced at the crowd it looked like everyone was wiping their eyes. Hannah's parents looked proud as ever, and I still didn't dare look toward my own. After a few moments, a reverent hush fell over the crowd.

The officiant continued, “The rings, please.” Zoe and Aisha both presented the rings; Zoe to me and Aisha to Hannah. Hannah took my hand and slipped the ring on, her fingers cool and steady. When I did the same, my hands trembled, but she steadied them, holding my wrist as I slid the band into place. We held there for a moment, rings catching the sunlight, hands joined. The officiant smiled, voice warm as summer. “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you married. You may kiss.”

I leaned in, not caring if I smeared my lipstick or lost a pearl or crumpled the dress. Hannah met me halfway, her mouth soft and certain, her hand cupping my cheek. The room erupted in applause, actual applause. It was loud, chaotic and impossibly happy. I could feel the vibrations through the soles of my shoes. The officiant stepped back, giving us a moment to just exist. Just us. Two girls, two rings, sunlight and promises. We walked back up the aisle together, step for step, hearts thundering and hands locked tight. And for the first time, I wasn’t scared of what came next.
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The next chapter will be the reception. While I could skip it and get down to the birds and the bees, there's one more seed that needs to be planted for a future story.

[Shocker]

I do like weddings, both in theory and practice. Great chapter.

[Lucius]

Good luck to Wendy and Hannah -- I think they'll need it soon!

[RapeU]

Chapter Tags: No sex, story
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Chapter 7 The Reception

The ceremony doors swung open, and with one last glance at the arch of flowers, we stepped out. The corridor beyond was filled with the low murmur of guests and the distant clink of champagne flutes. Zoe and Aisha walked behind us, both a little puffy eyed but grinning in a way that was more mischievous than sentimental. “You did it,” Zoe hissed, giving my arm a squeeze. “Now go be disgustingly in love at the reception.” Aisha just offered a silent thumbs up, but the way she looked at us made it clear that we did something right and real.

The reception hall was a transformation I could only have imagined in dreams, and Hannah, I knew, had executed it down to the last atom. The ceiling was draped in gauzy white fabric that had soft blue fairy lights which twinkled like distant constellations. Every table was set with white roses, blue delphiniums, and a single sunflower in the middle of them. Somehow the entire space was filled with the smell of winter. The smell was clean and cold, but alive with the undercurrent of something blooming. And in the center of it all, a dance floor gleamed, the parquet so polished it reflected every shimmer of light and every nervous breath.

On the stage, Hannah’s parents stood waiting, and the sight of Diane in her powder blue dress nearly undid me again. She caught my eye, smiled wide, and reached for me as if she’d known me all her life. Frank, in a suit that probably predated my own existence, offered a handshake. It was brief and a little too firm, but his eyes were bright and kind. “Congratulations,” Diane gushed, pulling both of us into a group hug that was equal parts warmth and suffocation. “You two are radiant,” she beamed. Frank just nodded, but there was a smile lurking at the edge of his mouth.

Guests filled in, settling at their tables, while servers in black and white began the practiced ballet of pouring champagne. The sounds of the room layered with laughter, the scrape of chairs, and the soft overlap of conversation. Everywhere I looked, people were smiling, some at us, some at each other, but mostly at Hannah and me.

I found myself looking for my own parents, even though deep down I already knew they had probably left. Their seats at the family table were empty. Their absence was a hole in the pattern, something my eyes kept drifting back to even though I wanted to ignore it. I felt a stab of something sharp, then Hannah’s hand, resting on my leg under the table, pulled me back. “They don’t know what they’re missing,” she whispered, and the certainty in her voice was enough to steady me.

Dinner was a blur, but in the good way. People conversed, drinks popped and fizzed, and the food seemed too nice to actually eat. The first course was a salad that looked like a tiny garden on a plate. It had edible flowers, microgreens, and delicate whorls of something pale and tangy. Every bite was crisp and cold, and tasted like a promise. The main course was chicken so tender I could cut it with a glance, surrounded by roasted potatoes and vegetables arranged with mathematical precision. Someone tried to make a joke about the food being “too beautiful to eat,” but Zoe shut them down instantly, saying, “Never underestimate the appetite of a lesbian on her wedding day.” It broke the tension, and a ripple of laughter circled the reception.

Between courses, I caught snippets of conversations: “They look so happy.” “She planned this herself, did you know?” “You can just tell, can’t you?” “They are perfect for each other.” Each comment landed with a weird blend of pride and embarrassment. I felt exposed, but not in a bad way. It was more like standing in the sun after a long winter.

At the first lull, Renee tapped her glass and called for attention. The room quieted, all eyes turning to the head table. “If I could please have your attention for a few moments,” she said, “we will begin our toasts, starting with Diane, Hanna's mother.” Diane stood, holding her glass with both hands. She took a moment, looking not at the crowd, but right at Hannah and me. “I’m not sure how to do this,” she began, and her voice trembled a bit. The audience gave her reassuring soft claps and I saw the nerves partly melt away from her.

She spoke with more confidence, “I’ve never been prouder of my daughter than I am today. And I have never been happier to welcome someone into our family.” She glanced at me, her eyes welling but not breaking. “Wendy, I know this last year wasn’t easy for you. But you have shown a strength and a resilience that inspires me. If I could give you any gift as you start your new life together, it would be this: that you always remember how loved you are. By us. By everyone in this room. And especially by Hannah.”

She paused, breath catching. “You’re one of us now. For good.” She lifted her glass, her voice barely above a whisper. “To Hannah and Wendy. May your love always bring you home.” The room raised glasses, the word “home” echoing back like a benediction. I felt the tears welling but did my best to smile through them. Next to me, Hannah’s hand found mine again. I felt the comfort and the promise in it. This was real, and I was allowed to have it.

Next was Frank, who seemed almost surprised when Renee called his name. He stood a little awkwardly, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m a man of few words.” He stopped for a beat. “But I will say, I always thought I knew what it meant to love your child, to want the best for them. But I didn’t realize until today that sometimes, the best thing you can do is just stand back and watch them be happy.” He shrugged, a half smile playing at his lips. “That’s what I’ll do now.” He sat. A quiet fell, then laughter, and finally a long, warm round of applause.

When it was Zoe’s turn, she took the microphone from Renee with the practiced swagger of someone who was born to embarrass me in public. She didn’t bother with a glass, just stood, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing as if conducting an invisible orchestra. “Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between,” she began, “for those who don’t know me, I’m Zoe, Wendy’s best friend and, statistically speaking, the person least likely to say anything inappropriate. Which is why I’m honored to be here.” The room laughed, Zoe grinned, soaking it in.

“I’ve known Wendy since we were four. She had a lisp and wore overalls with frogs on them, which I thought was cool as hell.” Another ripple of laughter. “Back then, we did everything together. We built tree forts, we conspired to get out of gym class, and once, we got in big trouble for TP’ing her neighbor’s house. Sorry, Mrs. Jenkins.” She winked. “But here’s the thing about Wendy: she’s always been the bravest person I know. She never let anyone tell her who she could or couldn’t be. Sometimes she’d doubt herself, sure, but she’d always do the right thing, even if it was hard. Especially if it was hard.”

She shifted, gaze flicking to Hannah, then back to me. “And then along came Hannah. I’ll be honest, at first I thought no one could be good enough for my Wen. But Hannah…Hannah is different. She’s steady, she’s smart, and she loves Wendy in this way that makes her more herself. She grounds her, but also gives her wings. And let’s be real, she’s basically the hot librarian every girl secretly wants.” The laughter was louder, and I actually blushed. “So, here’s to the newlyweds. May you always find in each other the things you didn’t even know you needed. And may you never stop being a little weird, a little wild, and a lot in love. Cheers!” I don’t remember if I started crying then, but I know I was smiling so hard my cheeks ached. Zoe gave me a look, not just supportive, but deeply proud. I mouthed thank you, and she winked.

Then, it was Aisha’s turn to speak. Aisha stood, the weight of the moment visible in the way she squared her shoulders and didn’t bother to pick up a glass. She looked at me, then at Hannah, then at the crowd, as if daring them all to breathe too loud in her presence. The room shifted, everyone recognizing that something real was about to happen. She cleared her throat, then spoke in her measured, steady cadence. “I’m Aisha Grant. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Hannah’s best friend from childhood, Wendy’s friend by fate, and, apparently, the designated adult in every friend group I’ve ever had.” A ripple of laughter, which she allowed to die before continuing.

“Growing up, Hannah was always the one who had a plan. She mapped out our summer vacations at age eight. She color coded her snack bins. If there was a way to organize it, she did. If there wasn’t, she’d invent one. I admired her for it, even when I pretended not to. But here’s what you need to know.” She turned, her eyes fixing squarely on Hannah, then on me. “None of those plans ever included someone like Wendy. Because when you plan for everything to be safe, you forget that the best things are never planned. Sometimes, they’re not even possible to imagine.”

She paused, her expression so serious it rippled through the room. “Wendy, you are Hannah’s favorite surprise. Her proof that it’s okay to let go of the plan. You show her every day that love is not a checklist, or a contingency, or a schedule to be kept. It’s a risk. But it’s also the best kind of risk, because it means you never have to take it alone.”

She let that hang, then continued, softer. “What I wish for you both is simple. That you never forget how rare it is to find someone like this, and that you always remember what it means to keep choosing each other. On purpose. Every day.” She looked at me and said, “You make her breathe easier.” Then, finally, she smiled, small and real, and said, “Thank you for that. To Hannah and Wendy!” The toast was over before anyone knew it, but the effect lingered. There was a hush, then applause that lasted longer than any of the others.

I caught Hannah’s eye and saw she was blinking back something fierce. I squeezed her hand under the table and tried to memorize the moment. Sometimes, you don’t know you’re in the middle of a perfect day until it’s already halfway gone. I wanted to stop time, rewind, loop the words until I could carry them with me always. Yet I still had a bitter ache in my chest. I glanced again toward the seats where my parents should have been. They weren’t there. Not even a ghost of them. I tried to let the ache pass, wanting to be present, for myself and for Hannah.

Under the table, Hannah squeezed my hand. “I know,” she whispered, sensing my ache. “But look around. This is your family now.” I did. Diane and Frank. Zoe and Aisha. The room full of people who wanted us here, together. The food kept coming. The plates kept clearing. The music began to pick up, soft jazz and then livelier pop covers that had people swaying in their chairs. I watched Hannah as she talked to her cousins, her face open and alive in a way I’d only ever seen when it was just the two of us. The sight filled me with something so raw and good I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from dissolving into a puddle.

Despite my parents absence, there were so many little happy moments. Zoe made tasteful wedding jokes to make everyone laugh. Diane caught my eye from across the table and gave me a conspiratorial wink. Hannah’s fingers traced idle circles on my knee whenever the conversation lagged. At one point, Frank leaned over to me, voice low and a little gruff. “You did good, kid,” he said. “She’s been happier this year than I’ve ever seen her.” Then, awkward, he added: “Don’t let anyone take that from you.” I swallowed hard, nodded, and managed a soft “Thank you.”

I kept looking at the empty seats, but each time the ache was a little less. It wasn’t gone, but it didn’t define the room. Not anymore. There was a lull, and I felt Hannah’s hand on my arm. She looked at me, eyes a little glassy, and said, “It’s almost time for the first dance.” I nodded. “You ready?” I asked. She smiled, “With you? Always.” The music slowed, and the coordinator’s voice floated over the crowd: “Please join us on the dance floor for the couple’s first dance.” I felt my heart spike in my chest, but Hannah stood, offering her hand. I took it, letting her guide me into the light.

The moment felt like the start of something, not the end. The song that played as we stepped onto the dance floor was slow, dreamy, but threaded through with a tension that built and built, lyrics about storms and shelter and finding safety not from the world, but in each other. I rested my hands on her shoulders, and she pulled me in close, our bodies swaying to the music in unison. Around us the room went a little fuzzy, like the universe had smudged the edges, leaving just us in sharp relief. I could smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her palm steady against the small of my back.

There’s an odd kind of courage that comes from being watched by a hundred people, all waiting to see if you’ll trip or falter. But with Hannah’s arms around me, every other pair of eyes just faded away. We moved slow, neither of us really dancing, more like drifting, letting the music carry us.

The chorus landed, a swell of hope in the melody, and I found myself with my forehead pressed to Hannah’s. We circled the floor, slow and deliberate. It was the happiest I’d ever been. But then, as the song shifted into its bridge, a flicker of motion caught my eye at the edge of the room. There was a side door, just beyond the buffet table, and through it I saw the unmistakable silhouette of Amanda Barkley. Her hair was pulled back, her face set in an expression of total determination. For one weird, floating second, our eyes met. I felt a wave of dread, like ice water poured down my spine.

But before she could step all the way in, Aisha appeared, blocking the door with the kind of “oh hell no” authority only she could muster. Amanda tried to brush past, but Aisha just stood her ground, arms folded, head tilted in a way that suggested zero patience for bullshit. Two members of the venue’s security team, alerted by the commotion, materialized at her flanks. Amanda’s jaw worked, then she turned on her heel and stalked away.

The whole thing lasted maybe three seconds, but it left a sour taste in my mouth. Hannah, who had been watching me instead of the drama, caught the change in my expression. “What is it?” she whispered, concern threading her voice. I shook my head, not wanting to ruin our moment. “Nothing,” I said. “Just…this is all so much.” It was true, and it wasn’t. Hannah seemed to get it anyway. “You’re allowed to enjoy it, you know.” Her fingers tightened on my waist, keeping me in the now. “We survived the storm,” she said, echoing the lyrics. “This is the other side.”

I smiled, the music swelling around us, and let myself lean into her completely. We finished the dance with a final slow spin, the lights above catching in the tiny crystals of the ceiling and breaking into a thousand glimmers. There was applause that started off polite at first, then grew until the whole room was clapping and whistling. I blushed, not from embarrassment but from the sheer rush of being seen, really seen, with nothing left to hide.

As we left the floor, Hannah kissed my cheek, her lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than was strictly polite. I didn’t care. We walked back to the head table, hands still linked, and I could feel every nerve in my body humming. The next item on the agenda was cake. It was a three tiered masterpiece. Each layer was wrapped in fondant so smooth it looked unreal, decorated with white and blue flowers that matched Hannah’s tie perfectly. At the base, a ring of tiny sugar pearls glittered in the soft light. “She’s beautiful,” I said, and meant the cake but also meant Hannah.

The crowd gathered around, phones at the ready. I wrapped my hand around the ceremonial cake knife, and Hannah covered mine with hers. The first slice came away clean, the inside swirled with vivid blue and yellow like the sky after rain. We fed each other a bite, and for a second I thought Hannah was going to smash it into my face, but she just grinned, all mischief, and let me savor it. As guests drifted back to their tables, plates heaped with cake, I checked my phone for the first time since the ceremony. I shouldn’t have. There was a single text, from my mother. Just seven words: “When you come to your senses, you can come home any time.”

I stared at the message, the air draining out of the room. My hands started shaking, knuckles white around the phone. For a second, the walls of the reception seemed to close in, the laughter and music suddenly so distant they might as well have been happening in another city. Hannah noticed immediately. “Hey,” she said, voice soft, eyes searching my face. “Wendy, what is it?” She reached for my hand, but I pulled away, afraid that if I let myself feel anything, I’d shatter right there at the table.

Zoe was across the room when I checked my phone. She froze like a squirrel with a nut then looked directly at me like she sensed my mood shift. Zoe moved fast, sliding into the seat next to me with a plate of cake in one hand and a look of fierce determination on her face. “What’s going on?” she asked, her tone making it clear she wasn’t taking “nothing” for an answer. I handed her my phone. She read the text, eyes going hard, then looked up at me. “No,” she said, loud enough that a few heads turned. “No way is she doing this to you today.” I wanted to argue, to say it didn’t matter, that I was fine. But the words wouldn’t come.

Zoe stood up, raising her fork in the air like a battle standard. “You know what this wedding needs?” she shouted, voice carrying over the clatter and hum of the room. “A dance circle. Now.” She shot a look at the DJ, who immediately switched the music to an upbeat pop song, the kind with a beat that made it impossible not to move. She grabbed my hand, yanking me up from the table, and marched me onto the dance floor. For a second I resisted, every part of me wanting to hide, to run. But then Zoe did something so utterly, embarrassingly ridiculous that I couldn’t help but laugh. She started dancing like a malfunctioning wind up toy, flapping her arms and doing exaggerated disco moves. The sound of my laughter startled me, sharp and bright, and then I was laughing for real, shoulders shaking, the heaviness in my chest starting to crack.

Other guests joined in, forming a wide, loose ring. People clapped along, some even cheering. In the middle, Zoe twirled me, then did a moonwalk that was so bad it was almost good. Hannah and Aisha joined, both doing their own brand of awkward wedding dance. I could feel the energy from everyone pressing in, and instead of crushing me, it lifted me up. The music shifted, and someone started a conga line. Aisha grabbed my waist, and suddenly I was being spun around the room, laughter echoing off the walls. For a few wild minutes, I forgot about the text, about the empty seats, about anything but the feeling of being alive and loved.

When the dance ended, sweaty and breathless, I caught a glimpse of Hannah watching me from the edge of the circle. She had her hands in her pockets, her face soft and a little vulnerable. I walked over, and she pulled me into a hug, her chin resting on my shoulder. “You okay?” she asked, and I could tell she wasn’t just talking about the party. I nodded, and for the first time in a long time, it felt mostly true. She kissed my forehead, then whispered, “You will always be part of my family.” I smiled, the tears gone, replaced by something lighter. The music kept playing, the room pulsing with light and sound. In the middle of the chaos, I felt something settle inside me. A sense that I could stand here, with Hannah, and nothing could take that away. Not even my parents’ absence, or the ghosts of what might have been.

Later, after the cake was demolished and most of the champagne was gone, the party started to thin out. The hard partying cousins from Hannah’s side were busy challenging each other to increasingly dangerous drinking games near the bar, while the older guests retreated to quiet corners, voices soft and confidential. The fairy lights had a low, golden haze now, like the room itself was getting sleepy.

Hannah and I sat at the head table, just the two of us, watching it all wind down. “I can’t believe it’s nearly over,” she said, voice a little hoarse from laughter and maybe emotion. She reached for my hand, twining her fingers with mine. “I keep thinking someone’s going to yell ‘Surprise!’ and tell us it was all a rehearsal.” I squeezed her hand, feeling the weight and the warmth of the ring she’d placed there. “If this is a dream, I really don’t want to wake up,” I said, and meant it.

A lull settled around us, one of those perfect little pauses that makes you realize how loud the rest of life usually is. For the first time all day, my thoughts stopped whirring. I leaned into the silence, breathing her in, letting the ordinary miracle of it all take root. But then, out of nowhere, I felt the prickling sensation of being watched. I glanced around, at first expecting to see Zoe preparing some last ditch prank. But instead, my eyes landed on a man I didn’t recognize.

He sat alone at the far edge of the room, half hidden in the shadows beneath a row of potted ferns. He looked about our age, maybe a little older. His suit was a little too formal, his face carefully blank. He didn’t smile, didn’t raise a glass, just sat with his hands folded and watched. Watched us. Watched the room. His eyes were careful to never linger too long anywhere.

I nudged Hannah with my knee. “Do you know that guy?” I whispered, nodding in his direction. She followed my gaze, and her eyes narrowed. “No,” she said, frowning. “He’s not one of my relatives. Or friends.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking. “You?” I shook my head. “He’s watching us in a really creepy way.” I tried to keep my tone light, but there was an edge of unease I couldn’t quite hide. I asked, “Do you think he’s a wedding crasher?”

Hannah shook her head, “Everyone had to show their invitation in order to get in.” She paused, thoughtful, then said, “Except for the wedding party and employees of the venue of course. But he’s not an employee. I met them all yesterday when making the final touches.” Hannah’s brow furrowed, then smoothed again, like she’d tucked the thought away instead of pulling on it. “I’ll check the seating chart later,” she murmured. “I don’t have it with me.” Then, her voice got deliberately lighter, “Right now, I’m married. That’s my only priority.” I squeezed her hand again, letting it go for now. “It’s probably nothing,” I said.

We turned our focus back to the room, determined not to let a stranger disrupt our night. The man didn’t approach, didn’t even look away. He just sat, a mystery with no answer. Then at some point during the last song I glanced over and realized he was gone. There was only an empty glass at the table to show someone had been there.

When the time finally came to leave, the guests lined up in the entryway, each holding a handful of rose petals from a big basket at the door. It was old fashioned, maybe cheesy, but I loved it anyway. Renee, ever the general, marshaled us to the center of the foyer and counted down from three. The petals flew, soft and wild, filling the air with a rain of color and scent. Some landed in Hannah’s hair, some caught in the folds of my dress, but most just settled in a soft drift at our feet.

Outside, the February night was cold and sharp, the stars brilliant in the dark. Someone had decorated the car with a Just Married sign and white streamers that fluttered in the wind. Tin cans clattered behind us, loud and celebratory. As we climbed in, Hannah held the door for me with a dramatic bow. “After you, Mrs. Thompson,” she said, eyes glittering. “Smooth,” I teased, settling into the seat. She started the car. As we pulled away, the venue receded into a warm blur of light and laughter. The mystery stranger of the night felt suddenly small, like one more thing we’d already outgrown. Hannah reached over and laced her fingers through mine, solid and certain.

“You okay?” she asked, smiling like she already knew the answer. I looked at her, really looked, at the woman who had chosen me out loud and without apology. “Yeah,” I said. “I really am.” The road opened up ahead of us, dark and endless and full of promise. And for the first time in my life, home wasn’t somewhere I was waiting to be allowed back into. It was sitting right beside me, driving us forward.

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This is the only seed of a future story I want to say ahead of time, because I'm excited about writing it for the spin off season pass contest. The mystery man is Mark from Record Chaser.

Wow this chapter is around 4,500 words. It sure didn't feel like that much when writing it. Anyway, the next chapter is going to be what we all really want. Wild, untamed, and raw lesbian sex.

[Lucius]

Oh.

Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice
Appears under your feet

Poor Wendy and Hannah.

[Shocker]

Some years ago I decided, that love is too precious a commodity, and as long as they are consenting adults and make each other happy, it’s none of my business what gender they have. Making the parents even bigger douchebags.

The fact that a friend of mine is going through a similar phase with his parents only shows, that those kind of people exist. Which makes me hope that the Diane’s and Frank’s are out there as well.

Very well written.

[RapeU]

Oh.

Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice
Appears under your feet

Poor Wendy and Hannah.

Not yet, and not in this story. But there will be some more tribulations soon. And not just Hannah and Wendy.

Some years ago I decided, that love is too precious a commodity, and as long as they are consenting adults and make each other happy, it’s none of my business what gender they have. Making the parents even bigger douchebags.

The fact that a friend of mine is going through a similar phase with his parents only shows, that those kind of people exist. Which makes me hope that the Diane’s and Frank’s are out there as well.

Very well written.

I considered letting the parents come around, but when someone believes something to the point they make it part of their identity it's very difficult for them to change their mind. Even if they are factually incorrect. Without naming anything specific, I've seen this refusal to come around constantly happen in real time over and over again for the last six years.