“I went into the system and bounced from one foster home to another.”
“That sounds…”
“Awful?” He smiled sadly. “It was sometimes, but you learn early not to get too attached to places and people that might be gone tomorrow.”
That was his whole life.
He was never adopted. He just aged out of the system.
I went back to my dorm that night thinking I’d met the bravest person I knew.
We started studying together, then laughing together until my sides hurt and I had to beg him to stop being so funny.
He had this dry, perfectly timed humor that caught me off guard every single time.
And sometime around the last semester, I realized I was in trouble.
My heart beat faster whenever I was near him, and I couldn’t stop smiling around him.
I was head over heels for Chris.
I brought him home for dinner six months later.
My mother was polite in that tight-lipped way she used when she was judging silently. She offered water, asked loaded questions, and clenched her teeth in a reasonable facsimile of a smile even though Chris couldn’t see it.
My father was so awkward it was embarrassing.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “What do you plan to do after graduation?”
“I already work part time in IT,” Chris answered.
“And I have an offer lined up.”
My mother smiled thinly.
I felt my face burn.
I suspected my parents might have trouble accepting Chris, but while I’d braced myself for awkward questions, I hadn’t realized just how mortified I’d be by the end of dinner.
But the worst part came afterward.
I was helping Dad load the dishwasher while Mom rinsed plates.
“You could do better.”
I stared at my father.
“Better how? Chris is kind, funny—”
“Someone healthy and successful,” he said. Carefully.
“Someone with fewer… limitations.”
Mom looked at me like I was being difficult. “Honey, we just want you to think long-term. Chris is nice, but he’s a burden.”
We left soon afterward.
I didn’t tell Chris what they’d said to me in private.
What good would that do? My parents’ ignorance was not his problem.
Part of me wanted to record him one day while he moved around his apartment, cooking dinner, or folding laundry, and send it to them.
He lived completely independently. Sure, he needed to look up routes to new places with a little more care than the average person, but he navigated the world fearlessly.
He studied harder than anyone I knew.
He worked weekends.
He was in no way a burden.
When he proposed, it was simple.
We were sitting on the couch in my tiny apartment when he took my hands in his.
“I don’t have much,” he said. “But I love you, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I threw my arms around him and kissed him.
“A thousand times, yes.”
I imagined our life together: kids with his sense of humor and my stubbornness, a dog, Sunday mornings drinking coffee in bed, growing old together… our grandchildren playing in the backyard while we sat on the porch.
I bought my dream wedding dress on a whim. It was an ivory lace, off-the-shoulder gown so beautiful it made my chest ache.
I knew he wouldn’t see it, but I was certain he’d sense the joy I felt wearing it.
That was enough.
The night before the wedding, we stayed apart, just like tradition says.
Like my mother insisted, even though she hadn’t approved of the marriage in the first place.
I woke up glowing, nervous, and so excited I didn’t know how I’d survive the hours before I said, “I do.”
Then someone knocked on my door.
It was my maid of honor. She was pale, shaking, and crying so hard she could barely stand upright.
“I don’t know how to say this, but he’s been lying to you. All these years.”
“What?
Who’s been lying to me?”
Her voice broke. “He’s not blind. I… I saw something.
You need to see it too. Right now.”
She grabbed my hand and towed me down the hallway. I followed, too confused to ask questions.
She slowed as we approached his hotel room.
The door was slightly open.
I looked inside.
And my knees almost gave out.
He was sitting at the small desk by the window. Several cue cards were spread out in front of him, our wedding vows, I assumed.
Regular paper covered in handwriting, not braille.
I swear I forgot how to breathe as I watched him lean forward, lips moving, then pick up a pen and cross out a line.
“See?” my maid of honor whispered.
He pushed his chair back and walked to the mirror.
I watched in sheer disbelief as he lifted his chin and straightened his tie, adjusting it until it sat perfectly centered.
Now, I’m not proud of what I did next. It was impulsive, and something I never would have risked if I’d been thinking clearly, but I wasn’t.
I stepped into the room.
He was turning away from the mirror when I lifted one foot and removed my slipper.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t hesitate.
I tossed it toward the desk, just across the space in front of his chest.
He flinched. His shoulders tightened, and he spun toward the door.
The slipper landed on the desk with a soft thud as Chris made direct eye contact with me for the first time ever.
“Charlotte, you—” His eyes widened. “Oh. This… I can explain.”
My maid of honor found her voice first.
“Oh my God.”
He swallowed. His hands dropped to his sides. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?” My maid of honor snapped.
“After the ceremony?”
He didn’t answer her. He looked at me instead… looked at me, not past me, the desperation in his eyes clear, no sunglasses between us.
“I was afraid.”
I laughed bitterly. “Afraid of what?”
“Of losing you.” The words tumbled over each other.
“Of you seeing me differently. Everyone does once they know I’m not completely blind. They leave.”
I shook my head.
“You let me fight my parents for you.”
“You let me.” My voice rose. “You had so many opportunities to tell me the truth, but instead you acted like you couldn’t see anything and let me build a life on a lie.”
Tears streamed down his face. “It just got too big!
I never meant to lie, but you made assumptions, and it was just easier to go along with them. Every year, I thought, after this. After graduation.
After the proposal. After the wedding.”
I raised a hand. “I made assumptions… and you never corrected me.
You were open enough about everything else, Chris. Don’t make it sound like I’m the bad guy here.”
He flinched again.
“Please, Charlotte.
I’m sorry I lied, but I love you, and you love me. We can move past this…”
“No, we can’t. You lied to me because you thought I’d see you differently… that’s not love.”
Silence pressed in around us.
Finally, I reached for the ring on my finger. I slid it off and set it gently on the corner of the bed.
“You don’t get to stand at an altar and promise honesty when you’ve been practicing deception.”
I turned away before he could say anything else.
In the hallway, my maid of honor slipped her arm through mine.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“But you needed to know.”
I nodded. My legs were shaking, but I was upright. Still moving.
Still breathing.
Behind us, a door closed.
And for the first time all morning, I could breathe.
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