The Man Who Made Me Laugh During Our Vows

I think I always knew.
Not because the sky split open or the stars spelled your name—
but because you showed up at my door
with a birthday cake that had no eggs
and five candles flickering like a promise.
I turned twenty-nine,
and you turned my life into a soft landing.
By the end of the month,
you were mine completely.

No proposal.
No performance.
Just a knowing.
A “this is it” that settled in my bones
like it had been waiting there all along.

We married in sapphire.
A tiara tarnished by salt and time.
A beach the colour of dreams.
Coral beneath our feet,
the Great Barrier Reef breathing just beyond the horizon.
You looked at me like I was holy.
I looked at you and got the giggles.

Because that’s the thing about you.
Even when you say something breathtaking,
I forget to breathe and start to laugh.
I stared into your eyes,
and you poured your soul into vowels and consonants,
and I—
I giggled.
I giggled through my own vows too.
I couldn’t help it.
Joy spilled out of me.
Even the videographer broke—
you can hear her giggling on tape,
a sharp cut while she composes herself.
We ruined her professionalism
with our happiness.

Afterwards,
we watched the sun slide into the sea
with dinner on a private balcony
and champagne on our lips.
We found a ghost-pale gecko
guarding our crackers in the honeymoon suite,
our first night as husband and wife
blessed by the oddest, softest omen.

And in the morning,
we rose early,
salt still in our hair,
and swam in the reef
like it was ours.

It was a day made of sapphires and salt,
of tarnished crowns and cracked laughter,
of certainty and snorkels.
A day that said
This is love.
This is us.
This is forever.

And I still laugh when I think of it.
Because how lucky am I
that the man I married
is the man who made me laugh
in the middle of my vows.