I thought she came to my auto shop looking for work, but the words I said next changed both of our lives.

Wedding planning was supposed to be fun.

At least, that’s what all the magazines and Pinterest boards and married friends kept telling Daniel. It’s the best time of your life! they said. You’ll love picking out flowers and cake flavors and linens!

Daniel hated every single second of it.

He didn’t care about linens. He didn’t care if the napkins were folded into swans or just left in a pile. He didn’t care if the centerpieces had baby’s breath or not. He just wanted to marry Rachel. In a church, in a parking lot, in the middle of the shop floor—he didn’t care where, as long as at the end of the day she was his wife.

Rachel, on the other hand, had Opinions. Capital O.

“The cake has to be vanilla with raspberry filling,” she said, scrolling through her phone for the fourteenth time that night. “And the flowers have to be peonies. Not roses. Peonies. And the first dance song? It cannot be that terrible country song you like. I’m sorry. I love you, but I will not walk down the aisle to something about beer and trucks.”

“Beer and trucks are thematic, Rachel. We met in a garage.”

“No.”

“Fine. But I get to pick the groomsmen. And Mike is best man. No arguments.”

“Fine. But he has to wear a tux. And he has to get a haircut. And he is not allowed to tell the story about the time you set the garage on fire during his speech. I don’t care how funny it is.”

They were halfway through a very heated debate about whether to serve chicken or beef at the reception when the phone rang.

It was the nursing home.

Rachel’s face went from annoyed to terrified in half a second. She answered it on speaker.

“Ms. Morgan? This is Nurse Linda at Westbridge. I’m so sorry to call so late, but your mom took a turn about an hour ago. Her breathing is shallow. Her blood pressure dropped. The doctor says… well, he says you should come. Now.”

Rachel didn’t say anything. She just stood there, the phone slipping from her hand, her face completely white. Daniel caught it before it hit the floor.

“We’re on our way,” he said to the nurse. “Five minutes.”

He hung up. Wrapped his arms around Rachel. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.

“Daniel.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

“I know, baby. I know. But we go. We be with her. Whatever happens, we do it together. Okay?”

She nodded, unable to speak. He grabbed their coats, his keys, her purse. They drove to Westbridge in silence, the snow falling harder now, the roads slick and dangerous. Daniel held her hand the entire way, his thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles, praying to a God he hadn’t talked to since his dad died. Please. Not yet. Give her more time. Give them more time.

They got to the room. The doctor was there. The nurses were there. The machines were beeping too slowly, too quietly.

Mrs. Morgan was lying in the bed, her breathing shallow, her face pale. But when Rachel walked in, her eyes opened. Focused. Clear.

“Rachel,” she said. Her voice was strong. Clear. No slurring. No confusion. “You came.”

“Of course I came, Mom. I’m always here.” Rachel sat on the bed and took her hand. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her mom looked past her at Daniel. Smiled.

“Daniel. Good. You’re here too. I’ve been waiting for you both.”

She squeezed Rachel’s hand.

“I’ve had a good life, baby. A hard one, sometimes. But good. I got to watch you grow up. Watch you become the strongest, smartest, kindest woman I’ve ever known. I got to meet this one.” She nodded at Daniel. “I got to see you find your person. That’s all a mother ever wants, you know? To know her kid’s gonna be okay when she’s gone.”

“Mom, don’t—”

“Shhh. Let me say this. I’m tired, Rachel. I’m so tired. I’ve been fighting for so long. Fighting to stay. Fighting to be here for you. But I don’t have to fight anymore, do I? Because you’ve got Daniel. You’ve got the shop. You’ve got this whole town that loves you. You’re gonna be fine. Better than fine. You’re gonna be amazing.”

She reached into the drawer of her nightstand. Pulled out a small, worn velvet box. Handed it to Daniel.

“Her grandmother’s ring. I was saving it. For when you finally got your head out of your ass and proposed properly. Not with a cardboard sign.” She winked. “Go on. Put it on her. Let me see.”

Daniel’s hands were shaking as he opened the box. Inside was a simple, elegant diamond ring—old, classic, beautiful. Far nicer than the cheap one he’d been hiding in his sock drawer, saving up for.

He knelt down in front of Rachel. Took her left hand.

“Rachel Morgan. I know we already did this once with a piece of trash from the garbage. But this time… this is real. This is forever. Will you marry me? And make me the happiest, luckiest son of a bitch in the whole world?”

Rachel was crying so hard she could barely breathe. She nodded. Over and over.

“Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.”

He slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

Her mom watched, smiling, tears running down her own face.

“There. Now it’s official. Now I can go.”

She pulled Rachel down, kissed her forehead. Then she pulled Daniel down, kissed his cheek too.

“Take care of her, Daniel Brooks. She’s the best thing either of us will ever have.”

“I will. I promise.”

She lay back against the pillows. Her breathing slowed. The beeping on the monitor got quieter. Further apart.

“Tell your dad I said hi,” she whispered, looking at Rachel. “Tell him I saved his favorite beer for him.”

And then she was gone.

The monitor flatlined. The nurses came in. The doctor checked her pulse. Said the words Daniel had heard too many times before. Time of death, 11:47 p.m.

Rachel didn’t scream. She didn’t fall apart. She just lay down next to her mom, wrapped her arms around her, and held her. Quiet. Still. Like if she held on tight enough, she could keep her there.

Daniel sat with them. All night. He didn’t say anything. He just held Rachel’s hand through the bars of the bed, let her cry, let her be silent, let her do whatever she needed to do.

The funeral was three days later. Christmas Eve.

The whole town showed up. Every customer. Every friend. Even the sheriff and the mayor. The church was packed. Sarah and Margaret and Lily drove up from Georgia—Sarah had taken three days off work, no questions asked, the second she got Rachel’s text. Lily sat next to Rachel the whole service, holding her hand, quiet as a mouse.

Daniel spoke. He told stories about Mrs. Morgan—the days she’d been lucid, the jokes she’d told, the way she’d grilled him about his intentions with her daughter the very first time he’d walked into her room. He told everyone about the ring. About how she’d waited to make sure they were taken care of before she let go.

Rachel didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Everyone in that room knew how much she’d loved her mom. Everyone knew how hard she’d fought. Everyone knew she’d given everything she had, right up until the very end.

That night, Christmas Eve, they went back to Rachel’s little rental house. It was quiet. Too quiet. The Christmas tree in the corner had all the presents they’d bought for her mom under it—still wrapped, unopened.

Rachel sat on the couch, staring at them. She hadn’t said more than five words since the service. Daniel was scared. Not of her grief—he knew grief, knew it came in waves, knew there was nothing to do but ride it out. He was scared of what came after. Scared she’d shut down. Scared she’d pull away. Scared he’d lose her right after he’d finally found her.

He sat down next to her. Wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into him, her head on his chest, and finally—finally—she let go. She sobbed. Big, heaving, body-wracking sobs that went on for what felt like hours. He held her through all of it. Rocked her. Whispered that he was there, that he loved her, that it was going to be okay even if it didn’t feel like it right now.

When she finally cried herself out, she pulled back. Looked at him. Her eyes were red, her face puffy, but there was something new there. Something hard. Resolved.

“Cancel the wedding.”

Daniel’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Cancel it. The big one. The church, the peonies, the vanilla-raspberry cake, all of it. I don’t want it. Not anymore. Mom was supposed to be there. She was supposed to help me get dressed. She was supposed to see me walk down the aisle. Without her… it’s just a party. And I don’t feel like partying.”

“Rachel… we can postpone. Wait six months. A year. Whatever you need.”

“No. I don’t want to postpone. I want to marry you. I need to marry you. I need something good to come out of this week. Something that says life goes on. But not the big thing. Just… us. And Mike. And whoever else wants to show up. Tomorrow. Christmas Day. At the shop.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. We’ll get the judge from town to come—he owes your dad a favor, remember? We’ll set up the bay. String some lights. Make a cake from a box. I don’t care. I just want to be your wife. Today. Tomorrow. Always.”

Daniel looked at her. At the woman he loved, broken but unbowed, grieving but still fighting, still reaching for him even in her darkest hour.