He looked at me, serious. "Are you still happy you married me?"
I laughed. "Ask me tomorrow. And the next day. And every day after that."
He kissed my forehead. "Deal."
In the months that followed, we learned to fight for each other in a hundred little ways: doctor's appointments, awkward glances, difficult days.
Because love is not about lack.
It's about knowing who continues to show up, even when it hurts.
He showed up. I did too. And that was enough.
"Are you still happy you married me?"
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