“You really want to do this?”
“Yes.”
“I still want my wedding,” I told him. “I still want one beautiful day.”
Eventually, he nodded.
“Then we’ll make it happen.”
Peter came to dinner the next evening.
He answered every question my parents asked with patience and honesty. He explained that he understood how unusual the situation was. He promised to respect my boundaries and only participate in whatever made me comfortable.
Then my father asked why he had agreed.
Peter paused.
“Because if I were in her position,” he said quietly, “I’d hope someone would grant me the same kindness.”
After that, he became part of the planning.
He joined menu tastings, practiced dancing, and spent evenings talking with me on the porch when I admitted how frightened I was.
One night, I asked what role had prepared him for something this strange.
He smiled.
“I should probably tell you something.”
I waited.
“I used to work in hospice care.”
