It’s not the ideal time to be a bride, but my husband differs. He thinks that at eight months pregnant, I’m the prettiest I’ve ever been. It brings tears to my eyes when I think of all the trouble Brad goes to for Isaac and I. Anything for our happiness.
“You’re the most beautiful bride in the whole world,” Brad says earnestly. He sways with me, and we dance to music only we can hear.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“No, thank you,” Brad says with feeling. “For bringing love and light and joy into our lives. For showing me what it means to love and trust someone. For showing Isaac a mom’s love. For being the mother of our unborn child.”
We cling to one another. A door sounds somewhere in the distance. We don’t look up. Then a voice brings us back to the present. Our son, Isaac’s voice.
“Dad, Mila. You’re supposed to dance inside, not here.” Laughter sounds from the other side of the door.
“Coming, son,” Brad says and leads me to our wedding reception.
THE END