I met June when I was 22, while she was working part-time at a little coffee shop off campus. She was studying to become a nurse, juggling night classes and double shifts, and somehow still had the energy to make everyone feel seen.
She’d smile through exhaustion like it was a language only she spoke, and people, customers, coworkers, even I, gravitated toward it without realizing.
I used to pretend I needed more sugar packets just to talk to her again. She knew, of course, but she never called me out on it.
By 25, we were inseparable. We moved into a shoebox apartment with creaky floors and a balcony that barely held two chairs. Our furniture was a bunch of mismatched items, the water ran rust-colored every third Tuesday, and the whole place smelled like the bakery downstairs.
It was chaotic, sure, but we were happy.
We danced in the kitchen barefoot, argued about toothpaste caps, shared cold pizza in bed, and talked for hours about everything we would do one day once life slowed down — once we had the luxury of time.
Two years later, we got married in my sister’s backyard. It was all string lights, dollar store decorations, the cheapest wine we could find, and a playlist we made the night before.
It wasn’t that we were rushing into anything; it was the fact that we just wanted to be married, and we didn’t think we needed the fuss to prove our love.
“Anthony,” June said, her eyes shining, “I don’t want the fancy frills. I just want something that’s like us, simple and romantic. A simple celebration of our love and our lives together.”
She wore a pale blue dress with embroidered flowers, barefoot in the grass, and her hair flowed around her shoulders. She was every bit the woman of my dreams. I still remember the way she looked at me during our vows, like the chaos of the world had finally stilled to let us have our moment.
We talked about kids almost from the beginning, but there was always something in the way: June’s residency, my job, rent, timing…
It wasn’t that we didn’t want them; we did. We just kept waiting for the “right moment.” And when that moment finally came, we thought we were ready. We thought we’d waited long enough.
We thought nothing could ruin it.
But the day our daughter was born, June looked into her eyes and screamed.
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