Where Ghosts Find Home.

Where Ghosts Find Home.
The world outside is glowing. I don’t even know when the day started slipping into gold, but it’s everywhere now, spilling through the curtains, glinting off the window glass, settling softly over the floorboards. Diego’s hand is small and warm in mine as he tugs me toward the back door, eyes sparkling like he’s holding a secret too big to fit in his chest. He’s in his little dress shirt, buttons crooked, hair combed with what I suspect was water and determination.
“Where are we going?” I ask, half-laughing, half-suspicious.
“You’ll see,” he says, voice bubbling with excitement. “You have to close your eyes first, though.”
“Oh, do I?”
“Yes,” he insists, tugging harder. “You have to, Sissy. It’s part of the surprise.”
There’s that word again. Surprise. The one that’s been haunting me all day. I sigh, more amused than resigned, and let him lead me. “Alright. But if you walk me into a tree, I’m haunting you.”
He giggles and squeezes my fingers. “Okay, okay. Promise.”
I close my eyes. The air shifts immediately—warm, full of sounds. Quiet footsteps, hushed whispers, a breeze threading through the leaves. Someone’s laughter cuts softly across the yard. Then there's music. Faint at first—strings, low and steady, drifting in from somewhere ahead.
“Okay,” Diego whispers. “Open your eyes.”
I do.

And the world tilts. The entire back field has been transformed. The long grass has been trimmed short, and the oak tree at the far end is draped in strands of fairy lights that glitter like captured stars. Wooden chairs line a narrow aisle of white petals, soft and scattered, leading all the way to an archway of flowers. Wild and imperfect—roses, eucalyptus, lavender, things that grow free but were tamed just enough for today. And under that arch, standing with his hands clasped in front of him, is Connor. For a second, I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. The music swells a little, sunlight slipping lower until it paints everything gold. All around, faces turn toward me. Ma and Pa at the edge of the porch, Naomi grinning like a cat who’s eaten the canary, Liam looking far too proud of himself. Matteo, Nico, Ari, Winnie, and all the people from home. They’re all here. Every single one.

Diego tugs at my hand again, and I glance down at him. His eyes are shining. “Surprise,” he says softly, almost shy.
My throat closes. “What… what is this?”
He straightens, voice very serious now. “It’s a wedding. For you.”
For me. It doesn’t make sense, not at first. My mind can’t catch up with what my eyes are showing me. Weddings are for people who haven’t broken themselves into pieces. For people who belong to something good and clean. For people who haven’t buried parts of themselves in blood and secrets. But Connor is standing there, in the middle of all this light, and the look on his face tells me it is for me. Every petal. Every light. Every chair.
My hand trembles a little as I cover my mouth. “Connor…”
He smiles, slow and steady, that same calm that’s always pulled me back from the edge. Ma sniffles somewhere behind me and that’s when Diego’s little voice cuts through the hum of music and birdsong.
“Sissy,” he whispers, tugging at my hand again. “May I walk you down the aisle?”
I look at him, this tiny boy who came from the same darkness I did, who somehow carries only sunlight in his chest, and I feel something in me crack open.
I kneel down, my dress brushing the petals beneath us. “You sure about that, little prince?”
He nods, solemn and bright. “It’s what princes do.”
I laugh through the tears that threaten to spill. “Then I’d be honoured.”
He beams, puffing his chest out proudly, and threads his fingers through mine again. The music shifts, a gentle swell, like the world itself taking a breath, and Diego takes his first step, so I follow. Each step down that aisle feels like shedding another ghost. Every face I pass is someone who’s seen too much and stayed anyway. Naomi gives me a wink. Ma clasps her hands under her chin. Matteo wipes his eye when he thinks no one’s looking.

Connor’s eyes never leave mine. There’s no altar, no preacher, no pomp. Just him, waiting under a tree in front of people who’ve seen every version of us—the broken, the angry, the lost. Waiting with that quiet steadiness that’s always been my undoing. By the time I reach him, my heart is beating so hard I can hear it in my ears. Diego stops at the final step and looks up at Connor with all the confidence of a knight handing over his queen. “Here she is,” he says proudly.
Connor’s mouth curves into something soft, reverent. “Thank you, buddy.”
Diego hesitates just long enough to look back at me. “You look like a princess,” he whispers, then runs off to sit beside Ma, who immediately pulls him into her lap.
I turn back to Connor. He takes my hands, rough palms against my skin, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has. “You didn’t see this coming, did you?”
I shake my head, tears slipping free now. “You kept a secret from me. I’m both impressed and offended.”
He laughs, low and warm. “It wasn’t easy. You don’t miss much.”
I glance around again, “You did all this?”
“We all did,” he says softly. “But mostly Ma. I just tried to keep you distracted.”
I laugh again, watery. “I knew something was off. You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m better when I’m trying to surprise you,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

For a heartbeat, we just stand there in the golden light, everything else fading away. Then Connor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. He opens it, and the simple gold band glints in the dying sunlight. No diamond. No shine. Just us. I can’t stop the tears now.
“Sage,” he says quietly, his voice a little rough. “You’ve been my chaos, my peace, my ghost, my girl. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. And I don’t want another sunrise, another war, another breath without you in it. So… will you let me keep you? For good this time?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “A hundred times, yes.”
There’s a soft shuffle behind us, and then Pa’s familiar voice carries through the quiet. “Well then,” he says, warm and steady, “I suppose we’d best make it official.”
Connor laughs under his breath, but his eyes never leave mine as Pa steps closer.
“Do you, Connor Patrick O’Neill, take this woman to be your wife?”
“I do,” he says without a heartbeat’s hesitation.
Pa turns to me. “And you, Sage O'Neill, do you take this fool to be your husband?”
I smile through my tears. “I do.”
Connor slides the ring onto my finger and Diego appears, proudly handing me another to slip onto Conner's.
Pa grins. “Connor, you may now kiss your bride.”
And he does, in front of our family, our friends, under this tree, my husband kisses me.