With Aim of Love

It was a day like no other, one that would forever change the course of my life. Standing in front of the mirror, I could hardly recognize myself. The white lace wedding dress hung off my frame delicately, yet it felt like a burden heavier than anything I had ever worn. I never imagined I'd be marrying someone like Daniel-not because he wasn't kind, or caring, but because life had dealt him a cruel hand. A car accident, only a few months before our engagement, had left him paralyzed from the waist down. And here I was, about to vow my life to him.

The wedding was not the grand event my mother had dreamed of, but it was intimate. Daniel's parents, my family, and a few close friends gathered in the small chapel, the scent of roses filling the air.

"Are you ready?" My best friend, Maria, asked, her voice trembling with concern. Her eyes searched mine, looking for any sign that I might bolt out of the door.

I took a deep breath, trying to summon the courage I so desperately needed. "I am," I whispered, though I wasn't entirely sure.

"You're doing the right thing, Amelia. He loves you more than anything. He needs you," Maria said, squeezing my hand. She was right, of course. Daniel did love me-he had always loved me, even before the accident, before everything changed. But now, our relationship wasn't just about love. It was about sacrifice, commitment, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility.

I glanced out of the window and saw Daniel waiting at the altar, his wheelchair beside the priest. His dark hair was perfectly combed, and the suit he wore fit him immaculately. But despite his handsome appearance, there was a sadness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He had tried to hide it, to be strong, but I knew. I knew that he was hurting, just as I was.

The music started playing, and my heart raced. There was no turning back now.

As I stepped into the aisle, I could feel everyone's eyes on me. Some were filled with pity, others with admiration. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was Daniel. I walked slowly toward him, my heart heavy with emotions I couldn't quite understand.

When I reached the altar, Daniel looked up at me, his eyes glistening with tears. He took my hand, his grip firm yet gentle.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice soft but strained.

"So do you," I replied, forcing a smile, though my heart was aching.

The ceremony was simple, yet every word felt like a weight pressing down on me. Vows of love, commitment, and eternal partnership. But for us, those words had a different meaning. Our marriage wouldn't be like others. It wouldn't be filled with romantic getaways or spontaneous adventures. Instead, it would be filled with doctors' visits, physical therapy sessions, and the everyday struggles of caring for someone who couldn't walk.

When the priest finally pronounced us husband and wife, Daniel squeezed my hand tighter. I leaned down, pressing my lips to his softly, and for a moment, the world around us disappeared. It was just the two of us, bound by love and fate.

As we left the chapel, the reality of our new life began to set in. The car that waited for us wasn't a limousine, but a specially equipped van for Daniel's wheelchair. The honeymoon we had once planned in Paris had been replaced with a quiet week at home. But none of that mattered, I reminded myself. What mattered was that we were together.

---

That night, as we sat in our small apartment, the weight of the day seemed to press down on both of us. Daniel sat in his wheelchair near the window, staring out at the city lights, while I sat on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sorry, Amelia," he whispered after a long silence, his voice barely audible.

I looked up, confused. "What are you sorry for?"

"For all of this," he gestured to his wheelchair, his voice filled with bitterness. "This isn't the life you signed up for. You deserve better."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away. "Don't say that, Daniel. I married you because I love you, not because of what you can or can't do."