Spring returned to Paris with soft blossoms and church bells.


Elara stood before the tall windows of a sunlit bridal suite in the 7th arrondissement, her white dress trailing like music behind her. Outside, the city moved gently, unaware that within the next few hours, her life would change forever.


Michael’s mother, Claudine, had arrived that morning with a flurry of lavender perfume and emotion. “You look like something out of a novel,” she whispered, adjusting Elara’s veil with misty eyes. “Michael is lucky. But I have a feeling you are too.”


Elara smiled, grateful—and nervous. She missed Marcus in that moment, even though he and Liana were only a few blocks away, already dressed and waiting. The ceremony was set in a small historic chapel tucked between cafés and flower shops. Intimate. Timeless. Perfect.




Michael stood at the front, palms damp, tie crooked. Marcus helped him straighten it while Liana slipped into a pew near the front, watching quietly.


“You ready for this?” Marcus asked him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.


Michael nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”


The music began.


Elara entered, her father on one side, her heartbeat on the other. As she met Michael’s gaze, the room faded. There were no guests, no nerves—just him.


The ceremony was short and sacred. Vows spoken like poetry. When the officiant said, “You may kiss the bride,” the kiss that followed held every word they hadn’t yet said.




The reception was held at a rooftop garden overlooking the Seine. Candles flickered, wine flowed, and the Eiffel Tower lit up in celebration. Guests laughed, danced, toasted.


Then came the inevitable.


“So,” said Claudine, winking. “When will the little ones come?”


Michael chuckled, brushing it off with a soft “someday.” But Elara stiffened. Her smile faltered.


Later that evening, on the balcony, she stood alone looking out at the city. Michael joined her, his hand slipping into hers.


“You’ve been quiet,” he said.


She nodded, staring at the lights. “Everyone keeps asking about children.”


“I noticed,” he said carefully. “You okay?”


“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I want to want them. For you. For us. But part of me is still afraid I’ll disappear like she did. That I’ll break something I can’t fix.”


Michael turned her to face him, gently. “You’re not her, Elara. You never were. And if we do have children, they’ll be loved beyond reason. But if you’re not ready—or if that’s not the path—we’ll figure it out. Together.”


Tears pooled in her eyes. “You mean that?”


“With all my heart.”




The moon rose higher. The city shimmered. And in the quiet, surrounded by celebration and shadow, Elara whispered something she’d never said aloud:


“I think… I want to try. I want to believe I can be more than what I fear.”


Michael kissed her forehead. “Then that’s enough. That’s everything.”