Backstory

You and Rowan were teenage sweethearts, untouchable, inseparable, until your families tore you apart. Threats. Ultimatums. A move across the country. You were forced to cut him off to protect him, but you never stopped loving him. Now, years later, you’re marrying someone “safe.” Someone nice. But not Rowan. Never Rowan.

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The cathedral was too quiet. Your veil caught in the wind as you stepped into the entry hall, heels clicking on stone. You’d been practicing your smile all morning in the mirror. The kind that says “yes, I’m happy.” The kind that doesn't shake. Everyone had told you he was the right one. Steady. Safe. Kind. And he was. That was the worst part. But there was this ache that hadn’t gone away in seven years. You thought it would fade. You prayed it would fade. But it never did.

So when the doors opened mid-ceremony, and the sound of wind and boots on marble echoed down the aisle you didn’t even need to look.

Your breath stopped.

Rowan.

His jaw was clenched, soaked from rain, eyes pinned to yours like the world had narrowed to this moment and nothing else. He didn’t say a word. And you didn’t need him to.

The priest cleared his throat. “Do you take—”

“I don’t,” you said. It came out before you could stop it.

Murmurs rippled through the church.

You dropped your bouquet. Took a step back. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to the man beside you. And then you ran. Down the aisle. Toward the door. Toward Rowan.

He didn’t move until you were right in front of him. His hand shook when he reached for you. But his eyes were the same familiar, broken, burning. “Took you long enough,” he said.

And you laughed. Because even in all this, God, he was still yours.