Love Changes Everything

The Beginning of Almost part1

My hand flew to my mouth before I could stop it, as if I could hold in the moment, keep it from spilling over into something too big to bear. Dylan’s movement was slow, deliberate, one knee meeting the ground like a quiet promise. For a second, the world seemed to tilt, everything narrowing until there was nothing but him and the small red velvet box cradled in his hands.

The air felt different. Thicker. Charged.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else, the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of life moving on somewhere far away. My stomach twisted into nervous knots, but there was something sweet tangled in it too, something warm and impossible to contain. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I pressed my lips together, but it did nothing to stop the smile trembling there.

This couldn’t be real.

And yet, it was.

“Sherry,” he said, my name softer than I had ever heard, like it meant more at this moment than it ever had before. His eyes held mine, steady and unguarded, and I saw everything there, fear, hope, love, all laid bare without defense. “We’ve known each other all our lives.”

A breath caught in my throat.

“You know me better than anyone,” he continued, his voice uneven now, like the weight of the moment was pressing down on him too. “Even when I don’t say a word… you understand.”

I swallowed hard, blinking back, the sting gathering behind my eyes.

“I want a life built on that,” he said, his fingers tightening slightly around the box, like he needed something to hold onto. “On trust. On you.” A small, almost nervous smile flickered across his face. “There’s no one else in this world. I trust the way I trust you.”

The words settled deep in my chest, heavy and fragile all at once.

“I want to protect you,” he went on, softer now. “To take care of you. To spend every day trying to make you happy… to build something real together. Something that lasts.”

He opened the box.

The ring caught the light, scattering it in tiny, blinding sparks. For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe.

“Will you marry me?”

Everything inside me broke loose at once.

The tears came before I could stop them, blurring my vision until he was nothing but shape and light and certainty. My hands trembled where they hovered near my face, useless, overwhelmed. I tried to speak, but the word was already there, rushing out of me like it had been waiting my entire life.

“Yes.”

It burst from my lips, breathless and desperate and certain.

“Yes.”

I nodded quickly, again and again, as if he might doubt it, as if I needed to prove it with every movement of my body. A laugh slipped through the tears, shaky and bright, and I reached for him without even realizing I had moved.

“Yes.”

He exhaled, a sound so full of relief it almost broke me, and his hands found mine. They were warm, steady despite everything, and I watched through blurred vision as he slid the ring onto my finger.

It fit perfectly.

A soft gasp escaped me, my breath catching as I stared at it, at the way it gleamed against my skin, impossibly beautiful, impossibly real. My fingers curled slightly, like I needed to feel it, to anchor myself in the moment before it drifted away.

But it didn’t.

Dylan was already rising, closing the distance between us in a single step, and then his arms were around me, strong, familiar, safe. I buried my face against him, laughing and crying all at once, my hands gripping the back of his shirt like I never wanted to let go.

For a moment, there was nothing else. Just the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, the warmth of him, the way everything inside me finally felt… right.

Then his breath brushed against my ear, quiet, almost fragile.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For accepting… after everything I’ve put you through.”

The words settled differently.

Slower.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my arms, his eyes searching mine like he was waiting, maybe for doubt, maybe for hesitation.

But there was none.

Only the remnants of tears clinging to my lashes, the softness still lingering in my smile.

I reached up, brushing my thumb lightly against his cheek, grounding him the way he had always grounded me.

“I’m still here,” I whispered, my voice unsteady but sure. “Aren’t I?”

Something shifted in his expression then, something quiet and profound, like a weight he had been carrying finally loosened its grip.

And when he smiled, it wasn’t just happiness.

It was a relief.

The first flash startled me.

A sharp burst of white cut through the fragile bubble we had been standing in, and just like that, the world rushed back, loud, relentless, impossible to ignore. Another flash followed. And another. The soft, private moment we had just shared shattered into a thousand captured fragments.

Cameras.

So many cameras.

They surrounded us in a tightening circle, lenses glinting like watchful eyes, shutters clicking in rapid succession. The low murmur of voices swelled into a chaotic hum, questions overlapping, names being called, the scrape of shoes against pavement as reporters pressed closer.

Of course.

I had forgotten.

This was never just ours.

Every second of it, his knee on the ground, my breathless yes, the way my hands trembled as he slipped the ring onto my finger, it had all been seen. Recorded. Preserved. Already slipping out into the world beyond us, where strangers would dissect it, replay it, turn it into something bigger than the moment itself.

My chest tightened, not with doubt, but with the sudden weight of being watched.

Dylan’s hand found mine.

His fingers laced through mine with quiet certainty, grounding me before I could drift too far into the noise. I glanced at him, and somehow, in the middle of the flashing lights and rising chaos, he looked… untouched by it. Steady. Anchored. Like none of this could shake him.

He gave my hand a small squeeze, and then, without hesitation, guided me forward.

Into it.

The crowd leaned in as we approached, microphones stretching toward us like reaching hands. Questions were already forming, spilling out before we had even fully stopped.

“How does it feel to finally be off the market, Mr. Edward?”

The voice cut through the others, clear, practiced.

Dylan didn’t flinch.

I watched him turn slightly, his shoulders relaxed, his posture open, as if he had all the time in the world. The corners of his mouth lifted, not forced, not rehearsed, but genuine.

“It feels…” he began, pausing just long enough that the silence pulled everyone closer, “Pretty good, when you know you’ve chosen the right person to spend the rest of your life with.”

Something in my chest unraveled at that.

The words weren’t grand, not overly polished, but they carried weight. Truth. They settled into me, warm and steady, quieting the last of the nervous tremors still lingering beneath my skin.

I couldn’t look away from him.

The man standing beside me now wasn’t just the boy I had grown up with, the one who knew my silences and my storms. There was something more, something solid and unshakable. Confidence wrapped around him like a second skin, not loud or arrogant, but certain. His voice carried easily, each word measured, deliberate, resonating with a calm that made everything feel… safe.

As if no matter how loud the world became, he would remain exactly where he was.

Unmoving.

Certain.

Mine.

“Did you have any idea that Mr. Edward was going to propose today?”

The question snapped toward me, sudden and direct. Dozens of eyes shifted at once, all attention landing squarely on me. For a split second, my breath caught again—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of it.

I tightened my grip on Dylan’s hand.

“No…” I said, the word slipping out softly at first, before I found my voice. A small, disbelieving laugh followed, breath still uneven from everything that had just happened. I shook my head, glancing down briefly at the ring, the light catching it in a thousand tiny sparks.

“I had no idea,” I added, looking back up, the truth of it still settling over me like something surreal. “It was… a complete surprise.”

Another wave of flashes exploded around us, brighter this time, faster.

But it didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore.

Because his hand was still in mine.

And this time, when I looked at him, I didn’t feel like I was being pulled into the chaos.

I felt like I was standing beside something unbreakable.

The questions didn’t stop.

They came one after another, sharp and insistent, circling Dylan like birds that refused to land. Business. Family. The future. Each one edged with curiosity, with speculation, with the hunger to turn this moment into a story bigger than us.

And still, he answered them.

Calmly. Patiently. As if none of it rattled him.

I stood beside him, half listening, half lost in the way his hand never left mine. His thumb brushed lightly against my skin now and then, a quiet reminder that beneath the noise, beneath the cameras and the voices and the expectations, there was still something steady holding me in place.

Ten minutes felt like both a lifetime and no time at all.

Then, finally, he lifted his hand.

A simple gesture, but it silenced them.

“I have a lunch date,” he said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at me, “with my future wife.”

The words landed softly, but they carried.

Future wife.

Heat rushed to my cheeks again, but this time it wasn’t from nerves. It was something deeper. Warmer. Something that settled into my bones and stayed there.

Before another question could rise, he guided me away, his hand firm at mine, pulling me out of the chaos and back into something quieter. Something ours.

The moment we stepped inside, the noise fell away.

The heavy doors closed behind us with a soft, final sound, sealing off the outside world like it had never existed. The air inside the mansion felt still, almost expectant, and then I saw them.

Waiting.

My parents. Dylan’s parents. And at the center, seated with quiet authority, Grandma Alda.

Their smiles said everything.

I didn’t even think, I moved.

“Mom.”

My voice broke before I reached her, emotion catching up too fast, too strong. Her arms were around me in an instant, familiar and warm and grounding in a way nothing else could be. For a second, I let myself sink into it, into the comfort of something unchanged in the middle of everything that had just shifted.

Then she pulled back just enough to take my hand.

Her fingers turned it gently, her eyes immediately drawn to the ring. The light caught it again, scattering brilliance across the room, and I watched her expression change, soft admiration giving way to something sharper. Recognition.

Mrs. Edward stepped closer, her gaze narrowing slightly as she leaned in.

“Is that”

“Yes, it is.”

Grandma Alda’s voice cut through, calm and certain.

All eyes turned to her.

Mrs. Edward’s breath hitched, her composure slipping just enough to reveal surprise. “I thought that ring was lost.”

A faint smile touched Grandma Alda’s lips, something knowing in it. “Dylan’s grandfather kept it,” she said, her gaze drifting briefly toward him. “Tucked away… for the right moment.”

Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty.

It was filled with history, with meaning, with something far older than the moment I had just lived. I looked down at the ring again, my chest tightening slightly as the weight of it shifted.

This wasn’t just a promise.

It was a continuation.

A story I had just stepped into.

Lunch was set on the terrace, sunlight spilling over everything in soft gold. The table was dressed beautifully, but I barely noticed the details. My attention drifted, again and again, back to the same place, to my hand, to the ring, to the way it felt like it belonged there.

Voices rose and fell around me, laughter, conversation, the easy rhythm of family, but it all felt slightly distant, like I was floating just above it.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

Occasionally, I would take little glances at Dylan. Just watching, like I was memorizing him, the way he sat, the way he laughed. I kept glancing down at my hand, looking at the ring as if I still couldn’t believe it.

And every time, something inside me softened.

“Tomorrow,” Grandma Alda’s voice rang out, cutting gently through the warmth of the moment, “we will go shopping for your wedding dress.”

My head snapped up.

“So soon?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, a small laugh following, equal parts surprise and disbelief.

“The wedding will be in a month,” she replied smoothly, as if there were no other possibility. No hesitation. No delay. “We have a lot to do.”

A month.

The word echoed in my mind, too fast, too close, and yet, a flicker of excitement sparked alongside the nerves.

“Olivia, Joan, your mother, and I will help you choose the perfect dress,” she continued, already moving forward, already planning. “Everything will be taken care of.”

I couldn’t help it, I smiled, wide and unguarded, something almost childlike breaking through as I nodded.

“Thank you,” I said softly, the words carrying more feeling than I could fully explain.

Her gaze shifted.

“And Dylan.”

He looked up immediately. “Yes, Grandma.”

“You will assist with selecting the cake,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We must ensure it is to your liking.”

A brief pause.

Then, simply, “Okay.”

That was it.

No hesitation. No complaint.

Just quiet acceptance.

I glanced at him, a small laugh escaping me under my breath, and he caught it, the corner of his mouth lifting in response. It was subtle, almost private, but it felt like ours.

Everything did.

The sunlight. The laughter. The plans were unfolding faster than I could keep up with.

And beneath it all, steady and unshaken

The certainty that this was only the beginning.

Ronald leaned back slightly in his chair, a satisfied sort of smile settling onto his face as he glanced around the table. “Well then,” he said, clasping his hands together, “That leaves us men. We’ll have to get our suits ready for the big day.”

A quiet chuckle followed, low and easy.

“Dad,” Dylan muttered, a hint of amusement slipping through his voice as he shook his head, “Don’t you think a suit can wait?”

“Nonsense,” Olivia cut in smoothly, not even looking up from where she adjusted her napkin, her tone light but unwavering.

“We have much to do,” Grandma Alda added, her voice carrying the kind of authority that settled any lingering debate before it could begin. “And it all starts tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

The word seemed to echo louder than it should have.

Sleep never came.

I lay there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling as shadows shifted faintly across it, my mind replaying every second of the day over and over again. Dylan on one knee. The way his voice had trembled just slightly. The weight of the ring as it slid onto my finger.

Even in the dim light, I lifted my hand, turning it just enough to catch the faintest glimmer. It still didn’t feel real. Like if I closed my eyes long enough, I might wake up and find it gone.

But I didn’t close them.

Because I didn’t want to risk it.

Excitement thrummed through me, restless and bright, chasing away any chance of sleep. Every time I tried to settle, another thought surfaced—another detail, another what comes next—and my heart would start racing all over again.

By the time morning light crept through the curtains, soft and golden, I had already given up.

I threw the covers back before the sun had fully risen, energy surging through me despite the heaviness behind my eyes. The floor was cool beneath my feet as I rushed across the room, barely slowing down as I disappeared into the shower.

Today.

The word alone sent a spark through me.

Today, I will find my dress.

I nearly ran downstairs.

The house was still quiet, wrapped in that early morning stillness that hadn’t yet been disturbed by the rhythm of the day. My steps echoed softly as I reached the bottom, breath quick, anticipation bubbling just beneath the surface.

My mom turned at the sound, surprise flickering across her face when she saw me.

“What are you doing up this early?” she asked, her brows lifting slightly.

I stared at her, incredulous. “Did you forget we’re going dress shopping?”

A smile spread across her face, slow and knowing. “No,” she said gently. “I did not.”

“Then what time are we leaving?” The question tumbled out too quickly, my impatience impossible to hide.

“Not for another hour.”

An hour.

My shoulders dropped instantly, a small frown pulling at my lips as the excitement inside me had nowhere to go.

She watched me for a second, amusement softening her expression. “We could head over to the Edward mansion,” she offered. “Have breakfast there, if you’d prefer.”

The shift was instant.

The frown vanished, replaced by a grin so wide it almost hurt. “Yes,” I said, far too quickly, already moving.

She laughed under her breath as she reached for her things, and before I knew it, we were stepping out into the crisp morning air.

The drive felt too long.

Every turn, every stop, stretched time just enough to make the anticipation sharper. My foot tapped lightly against the floor of the car, my gaze fixed out the window—but my thoughts weren’t there.

They were already ahead of me.

At the mansion.

With him.

The car barely came to a full stop before I was out, the door closing behind me with a soft thud as I hurried up the path. The house loomed ahead, familiar yet somehow different now—like it held something new inside it.

Something mine.

I reached the door, then paused, turning back.

“Come on, Mom,” I urged, the eagerness slipping into my voice before I could soften it.

I didn’t want to walk in alone.

Not today.

She shook her head slightly, smiling as she caught up, and together we stepped inside.

The warmth of the house wrapped around us instantly.

Voices drifted faintly from deeper within, along with the soft clink of dishes and the comforting scent of breakfast. It felt lived in. Expectant.

Like they knew we were coming.

We moved toward the breakfast area, and the moment we stepped inside, all attention shifted.

“There you are.”

Mrs. Edward’s voice carried across the room, smooth and welcoming. She was already looking at me, a pleasant smile settling onto her face, but there was something more in her eyes. Something observant. Measuring, almost.

“Great, you’re here.”

Her words landed gently, but they carried a quiet sense of readiness, as if the day had already begun long before I walked in.

And suddenly, standing there beneath their gaze, with the morning light pouring in and the future pressing closer with every second.

My heart started racing all over again.

Dylan was already seated when we entered.

For a moment, everything else blurred—the soft clatter of dishes, the low murmur of voices—until there was only him. He looked up, and something in his expression shifted. Not surprise. Not discomfort.

Recognition.

Warmth.

He rose almost immediately, the scrape of his chair quiet against the floor as he stepped back and pulled the seat beside him out for me. The gesture was smooth, practiced… effortless.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice low, steady.

“Good morning,” I echoed, trying to match his calm, though my pulse had already begun to quicken.

I sat, acutely aware of how close he was—the subtle brush of his sleeve near mine, the quiet presence of him anchoring the space beside me. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t hesitate.

If anything, he seemed… at ease.

And that—more than anything—made my chest tighten.

Breakfast passed in a blur of movement and voices.

Plates were filled, coffee poured, conversations layered over one another until the room felt alive with motion. But it wasn’t the kind of chaos that overwhelmed—it was purposeful. Focused.

Mrs. Edward was already on the phone before we had finished eating, her tone crisp and efficient as she spoke with the caterer, discussing menus as if she could already see the reception laid out before her.

Across from her, Grandma Alda sat equally composed, her voice firm and unwavering as she spoke to someone about a venue—dates, availability, details falling into place with quiet precision.

My mother wasn’t far behind, her phone pressed to her ear as she arranged a cake tasting, her expression thoughtful, occasionally glancing at me as if trying to imagine what I would like best.

They moved like a well-oiled machine.

Decisive. Certain.

There was no hesitation. No question of if.

Only how.

And when.

I sat there in the middle of it all, watching, listening… feeling both part of it and strangely outside of it at the same time.

Dylan, beside me, said little. A word here, a nod there. Calm. Detached in a way that wasn’t cold—but wasn’t consumed by it either.

Like this was expected.

Like this was simply the next step.

The car ride carried that same energy.

Phones pressed to ears. Voices are low but constant. Plans unfolding in real time.

I leaned back slightly, letting their words wash over me without fully settling. My fingers drifted to my lap—then, almost unconsciously, to the ring.

It caught the light again.

I swallowed, then reached for my phone.

If the world had seen it… then the world would be talking.

The screen lit up instantly—notifications, messages, headlines. My name. His name. Over and over again.

And then—

The video.

I tapped it before I could second-guess myself.

There it was.

The moment.

Dylan, lowering to one knee. The way my hands had flown to my mouth. The way my entire world had seemed to stop as he spoke.

From the outside, it looked… perfect.

Beautiful.

Almost unreal.

I watched myself say yes—breathless, overwhelmed, completely undone—and something inside me twisted softly. No regret. Not doubt.

Just the strange awareness of seeing something so intimate turned into something everyone could consume.

The comments scrolled faster than I could read them all.

She’s so lucky.

Denver’s most eligible bachelor is officially off the market.

That ring—oh my God.

Fairy tale ending.

Lucky.

The word lingered.

I locked the screen, my reflection staring faintly back at me for a second before it disappeared.

Lucky.

My fingers tightened slightly around the phone before I lowered it, my gaze drifting—just briefly—to Dylan.

He was looking out the window, distant. Unbothered.

Untouched.

When the car finally stopped, I wasn’t prepared.

I stepped out—and froze.

The building in front of us wasn’t just beautiful. It was… intimidating. Glass, light, elegance woven into every detail. The kind of place you didn’t walk into casually.

Grandma Alda didn’t hesitate.

Of course, she didn’t.

Inside, everything softened—muted tones, plush seating, gowns displayed like art rather than clothing. Each one more intricate than the last.

I suddenly became very aware of myself.

Of the weight of what this meant.

Of what I was stepping into.

We chose dresses—no, they chose, and I followed, my hands brushing over fabrics that felt too delicate, too perfect to belong to something as simple as me.

And then

The dressing room.

The assistant moved with quiet efficiency, helping me into the first gown.

Fabric settled around me like a whisper.

I looked up.

And for a moment—

I forgot how to breathe.

One dress became another.

The Anika gown by Danielle Frankel floated around me, light and dreamlike, layers of tulle shifting with every small movement.

Then the Nova Cocotte gown by Vivienne Westwood—structured, dramatic, the off-the-shoulder neckline framing everything with a kind of bold elegance that made me stand taller without meaning to.

The Alexandra by Monique Lhuillier wrapped around me like a story I had always known—lace and softness and something timeless that settled deep in my chest.

The Yaelle by Zuhair Murad shimmered with every step, intricate beading catching the light like it was alive.

The Look 2 by Elie Saab bloomed around me in delicate detail, flowers stitched into the fabric as if they had grown there.

And finally—

The Leda-Lx by Vera Wang.

It clung, flowed, transformed.

Each dress changed how I stood. How I breathed. How I saw myself.

But none of them answered the quiet question forming beneath it all.

Would he look at me differently?

I stepped out one last time, still wearing the Vera Wang, the fabric trailing softly behind me.

“Well?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light, though something inside me felt far from it. “Which one did you like the best?”

They didn’t hesitate.

“The Alexandra.”

All at once.

The three of them, perfectly in sync.

For a second, I just stared at them.

Then I laughed—a soft, surprised sound that slipped out before I could stop it.

“That’s the one I chose too.”

And just like that, it was decided.

The dress. The shoes. The veil.

Each piece falling into place as if it had always been meant to.

“Miss Miller,” the attendant said gently, her hands smoothing the fabric one last time, “come back next week so we can begin the alterations.”

Next week.

Everything was happening so fast.

Lunch came and went, though I barely tasted it.

The conversations continued—venues, flowers, timelines—but they felt softer now, like background music to something louder happening inside me.

By the time we returned home, the sun had begun its slow descent, painting everything in warm gold.

Tomorrow, there will be more.

Venues to visit. Decisions to make.

A future being built piece by piece.

And somewhere within all of it—

A quiet, unspoken truth remained.

I had chosen him long before he had ever chosen me.

And as I lay awake that night once again, staring into the dark with my heart too full to rest—

I wondered, not for the first time—

If he ever would.

When we returned to the Edward mansion, the evening had already settled into something low and golden, the kind of quiet that comes after a long, full day.

Inside, the men were gathered in the sitting room, their voices blending with the soft clink of glasses. The atmosphere was relaxed—familiar. Lived in.

As we stepped in, the room shifted.

Chairs scraped softly. Conversations paused. Each man rose almost instinctively, moving toward his wife with practiced ease—hands brushing shoulders, lips pressing briefly to cheeks, small smiles exchanged like rituals repeated a hundred times before.

I felt it before I fully registered it.

That expectation.

That place beside him.

But Dylan didn’t come to me.

He moved past me.

Straight to his grandmother.

He bent slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, his hand briefly resting against her shoulder. She smiled up at him, something warm and approving passing between them.

Then he turned.

His steps were unhurried as he crossed the space toward me, his expression calm, composed—unchanged. When he reached me, he didn’t touch me. Didn’t take my hand.

He leaned in just enough for his voice to brush against my ear, quiet and contained.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

The question was simple.

Too simple.

But something about it made my breath catch.

“Yes,” I answered softly. “I did.”

He pulled back, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment, measured, unreadable.

“Good.”

And just like that

He was gone again.

Back to his seat. Back to his drink. Back to a version of himself that didn’t linger in moments like this.

I stood there for a second longer than I should have, the absence of him settling where he had just been.

We didn’t stay long after that.

Goodbyes were exchanged, polite and warm, and soon I was stepping back out into the cool evening air with my parents close behind me.

The drive home was quiet.

Not uncomfortable—but thoughtful. Heavy in a way that didn’t ask to be explained.

But the moment we stepped inside, something in me lifted again.

“Dad.”