She smiled through my wedding like everything was perfect. Hours later, I was soaking wet, half-deaf, and realizing just how far my mother-in-law would go to sabotage me.
I never imagined my wedding day would end like that. I spent months dreaming and planning every detail, down to the last floating candle.
But instead of a perfect ending, there were police sirens, soaked lace clinging to my skin, an ER visit—and karma hitting harder than anyone expected.
Let me rewind to how the sharp smell of chlorine replaced wedding cake and jasmine in my memory.
Hello, reader. I’m Allison, 27 years old. Using hearing aids has never stopped me from living, and for the most part, they have never held me back.
I am a high school teacher, coffee addict, and lover of music. I feel more than hear, but I especially enjoy music when I can feel the beat through the floor.
I was born with moderate hearing loss.
Since I was eight, hearing aids have been a part of my daily life, tucked behind my ears like tiny lifelines.
I never saw them as limitations. They were simply part of me, like my freckles or my weird laugh.
Then I met Ryan.
He was handsome, a little scruffy, with the kind of smile that made you feel seen, really seen. He was also confident and charming, with an aura that lit up the room.
We met at a fundraising gala for a local children’s shelter. I had only gone because my coworker bailed at the last minute, and I didn’t want the free ticket to go to waste.
Ryan gave a speech.
I couldn’t stop watching him, not because he was attractive, although he was, but because he spoke like every word mattered.
After the event, I walked up to him and thanked him for what he said. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Thanks for listening. Most people just hear noise.”
I blurted out, “I only catch about 60 percent of noise anyway.”
He blinked, then smiled.
“So what? You’re clearly hearing what matters.”
That was it. We had coffee the next morning, dinner the day after, and by the end of the month, I’d memorized the cadence of his laugh and the way he looked at me when I was trying too hard to seem confident.
Ryan never once made me feel different.
When I explained my hearing situation, he didn’t pause or tilt his head with sympathy. He just said, “Okay. So you tell me when you don’t catch something, and I’ll say it again.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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