Our wedding night was supposed to be perfect – the culmination of months of planning and years of dreaming. But instead of romance, we found ourselves facing a truth that would redefine our relationship.
I’ll never forget how Alex hesitated at the bedroom door, whispering urgently to his mother. My stomach dropped when I heard him say “I can’t do this.” What bride wouldn’t panic hearing those words on her wedding night?
The truth came tumbling out in halting sentences. At five years old, Alex had woken to a burglar climbing through his bedroom window. That single traumatic moment left invisible scars that never fully healed. For years after, only his mother’s bedtime stories could calm his nighttime anxiety.
Learning this didn’t push me away – it pulled me closer. That night, I held him the way his mother taught me, his head against my chest, listening to my heartbeat. In that quiet moment, I understood marriage isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up for each other’s broken pieces.
