Molly – 35 years ago

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“I’m almost ready!” I promise.

I don’t understand the rush. Every year, my parents drag me graveside. The only real purpose it serves is to soothe their conscience. I don’t remember my first family, not in a way altering everything I’ve become. I remember being sad when they died, but the sadness was short-lived, replaced with amazing memories overshadowing my fickle, five-year-old feelings. I was too young when the accident happened for the loss to affect me in a permanent way.

Mom stands in the doorway, watching me sculpt the face I want the world to see. “Seriously, Molly. How can it take two hours to get ready?”

“Perfection takes time,” I muse.

“You’d be just as pretty without all that stuff.”

“I’d be average,” I counter. “We don’t do average in this house.”

She laughs. “Only the best for our special girl.”

My parents are exceptional. They’re everything any child could ever hope for. In a way, I’m more blessed to have been adopted. They knew what a gift it was to have me, so they never forgot it. I was chosen, and I feel the love of that choice every day of my life.

“I hope Jack knows the prize he’s winning in you,” Dad announces as we head outside.

I smile proudly. “He reminds me every day.”

“That Jack is always on point.”

Dad’s right. Jack’s always on point. With everything. Always. His dependability is his most redeeming quality in the eyes of my parents. I have no complaints. Absolutely zero. While I watched my friends endure heartache and loss, I never had to worry about that with Jack. It’s like the universe plucked him out specifically for me. He was my first and only love, and in twenty-four hours, I’ll become Mrs. Jack Matthews. I’ll live in the house he bought for us, one block away from my parents. Just far enough to be out of direct sight, but close enough I won’t be giving anything up. We decided my future would be spent being a wife and mother. It’s a fairytale job. We’ll have two children, a dog and cat, and live in our two-storey house, complete with the white picket fence Jack’s already installed.

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I’m happy. I’m more than happy. I’m the epitome of blessed.

The drive to the cemetery takes about ten minutes. Mom and Dad wait in the car while I make my yearly appearance a day early. I purposely selected the ceremony day in accordance with the accident anniversary. I want to take my only negative memory and permanently mark it with something positive—my wedding.

I stand staring at the gravestone, three names staring back at me: Lucy, Kyle, and Connor Doran. I’ve no disillusions they’ll talk back, or they can even hear me. In truth, the whole exercise is more for my parents than me. They didn’t want me to feel they were keeping me sheltered from my past. In turn, I’ll always be content to look forward. Before me are endless possibilities. All of them good.

I’m missing nothing. I have a father to walk me down the aisle, a mother to look to as a role model, and someone to walk through life with. I have fistfuls of forever friends, who I grew up with in our quiet, crime-free neighborhood. My life is glorious. If anything, the very brief, rough start was fitting, too. It ensured I wouldn’t take anything for granted. I haven’t. I never will.

I lay fresh roses on the grave, smiling down at my past. “I know my wedding would make you happy. I know because it makes me happy.”

As I turn to leave, I notice a boy watching me. His frown is impossible to miss. I’ve never truly known sadness, only the childish, temporary hollow of loss. I offer him a bright smile, waving at him on my way out. He doesn’t smile or wave back. His reaction is off-putting but not enough to ruin my good day, which I spend the rest of in Final Touch mode.

By late evening, I want nothing more than to go to bed and wake up to the best day of my life—my wedding day. In fact, I go to bed early, just so it can come sooner.

As my parents tuck me in for the last time in their house, I hug them in appreciation for everything they’ve given me. If I have to pick one goal for my future, it’s to be the kind of wife and mother that’ll make them proud of me. They’re extraordinary examples of everything I hope to become.

“I love you,” I whisper as they kiss me on my happy-teared cheeks.

“We love you, our special girl,” they chime in unison.

With my comforter enveloping me, I go to sleep in the blissful warmth of my surroundings. I love my life. No one, anywhere, could ever be as happy as I am at this moment.

It’s my last happy moment.