“Because I was afraid. Afraid of losing you. Afraid you’d see me as less than.
And when I realized I loved you… that fear only grew stronger.”
His words weren’t excuses—they were pure vulnerability.
I took a deep breath and held his hand.
“I didn’t marry a body. I married a man. I married you.”
His eyes filled with tears.
And there, on our wedding night—which had all the makings of a disaster—we did something more intimate than any caress:
we told each other the truth.
We talked for hours.
We laughed, we cried, we talked about the accident, about our fears, our insecurities, our possibilities.
We hugged—and that hug meant more than any expected perfection.
That night I understood:
True intimacy doesn’t demand performance.
It demands sincerity.
And love…
Love isn’t what the body can do.
It’s what the heart has the courage to reveal.
