After abandoning hope of finding love, Amber’s world shifts when she crosses paths with Steve, an old friend of her father’s, at an unexpected barbecue. Their connection ignites fast, sweeping them toward marriage. But when their wedding night arrives, Amber stumbles upon a truth about Steve that transforms their future forever.
The sight of vehicles scattered across my parents’ lawn made me pause as I pulled into the driveway. “What now?” I whispered to myself, already preparing for whatever surprise awaited me.
Clutching my bag, I locked up and made my way inside, silently hoping for something low-key. The instant I crossed the threshold, charred meat and my father’s unmistakable laughter filled the air. Through the living room window, I spotted him—naturally, he’d thrown together one of his spontaneous cookouts. The yard teemed with faces, mostly his crew from the repair shop.
“Amber!” My father’s voice broke through my wandering thoughts while he worked the grill in that same weathered apron. “Get yourself something cold and come hang with us. Just the work gang.”
I suppressed a sigh. “Seems like half the neighborhood showed up,” I muttered under my breath, kicking off my shoes.
Just as I was about to step into the familiar chaos, the doorbell chimed. Dad dropped the spatula and cleaned his palms on his apron.
“That’ll be Steve,” he said absently, catching my eye as he moved toward the entrance. “You two haven’t crossed paths yet, have you?”
Before I could respond, the door swung wide. “Steve!” Dad exclaimed, delivering a hearty pat to the man’s back. “Perfect timing. And this here’s Amber, my daughter.”
I glanced up, and something inside me jolted.
Steve stood there, tall with an edge of weathered charm, silver threading through his hair and eyes that carried both kindness and depth. When he smiled, an unexpected tremor ran through me.
“Pleasure to meet you, Amber,” he offered, extending his hand. His tone carried a reassuring steadiness.
I clasped his hand briefly, suddenly aware of how disheveled I probably looked after the long drive. “Same here.”
From that moment forward, my eyes kept drifting his way. He possessed this quality that put everyone at ease, always absorbing more than he contributed to conversations. I attempted to engage with others around me, but every time our gazes intersected, I felt drawn to him.
It seemed absurd. Romance hadn’t occupied my thoughts in years. Not after everything that happened. I’d essentially released the idea of finding my person, channeling my energy into career and family instead. Yet something about Steve stirred a reconsideration I wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.
When the gathering wound down, I said my farewells and walked to my vehicle. Naturally, when I turned the key, the engine coughed and gave out.
“Perfect,” I groaned, sinking into my seat.
I contemplated returning to ask Dad for assistance, but a tap on my window interrupted that plan. Steve stood there.
“Engine problems?” he asked with an easy smile.
I exhaled heavily. “Won’t turn over. I was about to grab my dad, but—”
“Let me have a look,” he offered, already pushing up his sleeves.
I observed as his experienced hands moved with confidence. Minutes later, my car hummed back to life. I hadn’t noticed I’d been holding my breath.
“All set,” he announced, cleaning his hands with a cloth. “Should run fine now.”
Genuine gratitude warmed my expression. “Thanks so much, Steve. Guess I’m in your debt.”
He shrugged, giving me a look that sent my pulse racing. “How about we settle it over dinner?”
I hesitated. Dinner? Was this actually happening?
That familiar whisper of doubt surfaced, reminding me of every reason to decline. But something in Steve’s expression urged me to take the leap.
“Sure, dinner works.”
Just like that, I said yes. I couldn’t have predicted then that Steve would become exactly what my broken heart needed… or how profoundly he would eventually wound me.

Six months later, I stood before the mirror in my childhood room, barely recognizing myself in the wedding gown. The whole thing felt dreamlike. After everything I’d endured, I never imagined reaching this day. At thirty-nine, I’d released the fairy tale fantasy, yet here I stood—about to become Steve’s wife.
We kept the ceremony intimate, just immediate family and close friends, precisely as we’d envisioned. Standing at the altar, gazing into Steve’s eyes, an incredible peace washed over me. For the first time in forever, doubt didn’t creep in.
“I do,” I breathed, fighting back tears.
“I do,” Steve echoed, emotion thick in his voice.
And suddenly, we were married.
That evening, after the final embraces and well-wishes, we finally had privacy. Steve’s house—now ours—felt quiet, the rooms still foreign to me. I retreated to the bathroom to change into something relaxed, my heart buoyant.
But stepping back into the bedroom, I froze at an unsettling scene.
Steve sat at the bed’s edge, his back toward me, speaking gently to someone… someone invisible.
My pulse quickened. “I wanted you to witness this, Stace. Everything was beautiful today… I just wish you’d been there.” His words carried such tenderness.
I stood paralyzed in the doorway, struggling to process what I was hearing.
“Steve?” My voice emerged small and uncertain.
He rotated slowly, guilt crossing his features.
“Amber, I—”
I moved closer, tension filling the space between us. “Who… who are you speaking with?”
He inhaled deeply, his shoulders dropping. “I was speaking with Stacy. My daughter.”
I stared at him as comprehension slowly took hold. He’d mentioned having a daughter. I knew she’d passed away. But I hadn’t known about… this.
“She died in an accident, along with her mother,” he continued, his voice strained. “But sometimes I still talk to her. I realize how it sounds, but… I feel her presence with me. Especially today. I needed her to know about you. To see my happiness.”
Words escaped me. My chest constricted and breathing became difficult. Steve’s grief radiated between us, palpable and heavy. Yet I didn’t feel frightened or angry. Just… heartbroken. Heartbroken for him, for his losses, for the weight he’d shouldered alone. His pain felt like my own.
I settled beside him, finding his hand with mine. “I understand,” I said quietly. “Really. You’re not losing your mind, Steve. You’re grieving.”
He released a trembling breath, his vulnerability nearly shattering me. “I’m sorry. I should’ve shared this earlier. I just feared driving you away.”
“You’re not driving me anywhere,” I assured him, squeezing his hand. “We all carry ghosts. But now we’re partners. We can shoulder this together.”
Steve’s eyes glistened with tears, and I drew him into an embrace, absorbing the weight of his anguish, his love, his fear—all of it converging in that instant.
“Perhaps… perhaps we could seek help. A therapist, maybe. You don’t have to navigate this alone with Stacy anymore.”
He nodded against my shoulder, his hold tightening. “I’ve considered it. I just couldn’t figure out where to begin. Thank you for understanding, Amber. I didn’t realize how desperately I needed this.”
I pulled back enough to meet his gaze, my heart expanding with a love more profound than I’d ever experienced. “We’ll work through this, Steve. Together.”
As I kissed him, certainty filled me. We weren’t flawless, but we were authentic, and for the first time, that felt sufficient.
Because that’s the truth about love, isn’t it? It’s not about discovering someone without wounds; it’s about finding someone whose wounds you’re willing to help heal.