On the eighth beat of silence, she finally opened her mouth. It was dry, and numb, and painful from smiling all day, but she wanted to utter these words, even if they were the last she’d ever say. “I, Jolie Alexandra Louis, take you, Sage Albert Poirier, to be my best friend, my faithful partner, and my one true love. You’ll be my storm in the summer, my calm under the winter sky, and all the seasons in-between. To have, to hold, to cherish, and to comfort.” She slid the ring with shaky fingers, their childhood tree standing in the background, wrapped in red and white sateen bows. It was a
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