Page 144 of The Humiliated Wife

Laughter rippled through the guests.

They didn’t read vows from notecards. They didn’t try to be poetic.

Dean looked at her and said, “I will never forget how lucky I am to be loved by you.”

Fiona looked back and said, “I won’t make you a better man. You’re already doing that yourself. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

They kissed before Marcy even finished sayingyou may kiss the bride.

Later, Fiona stood barefoot on the grass, dancing with a lemonade in hand while her students swirled around her like fireflies. Dean sat on the porch steps, shoes off, tie loosened, a plate of cake crumbs beside him.

He watched her.

This woman. His wife.

His again, and still.

Not because of a curated life or a picture-perfect timeline.

Because she let him try again.

Because she said yes.

From the yard, Fiona caught his gaze and mouthed,What?

Dean smiled.

Everything,he thought.

Then he got up, walked barefoot into the grass, and kissed his wife under the string lights—exactly the way he should’ve the first time.

And exactly the way he always would from now on.