I married the boy I'd loved since childhood in his hospital room after doctors said cancer would take him within months. Just after our vows, a nurse pulled me aside and whispered, "Before you leave... look under his mattress." I thought I was losing my husband. I had no idea I'd never truly known him.
The medical machines beside Ben hummed their quiet, steady rhythm.
I stood at the foot of his bed, holding a cheap veil.
I was finally going to marry the boy I'd loved for twenty years.
But it was far from being a dream wedding.
Ben grinned at me from the hospital bed, pale but stubbornly cheerful.
"You look beautiful."
It was far from being a dream wedding.
"I'm wearing jeans, Ben."
"Best-looking bride in this whole hospital."
I laughed, because if I didn't laugh I was going to fall apart.
I had known him since we were eight.
By sixteen, our families had already started joking about a wedding.
By twenty-eight, we had mailed the invitations.
Then life kicked us in the teeth.
I was going to fall apart.
