The proposal came not with roses or candlelight, but with the scent of antiseptic and the low beep of a hospital heart monitor.
Lena blinked up at Ethan, groggy from sleep and surprise.
"What did you say?"
"I said we should get married."
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't teasing.
He was deathly serious.
She let out a slow breath. "You don't propose because someone got injured. We survived something dangerous, and our emotions are just heightened. Just calm down for now and think it through. "
"I'm not only proposing because you were hurt," he said. "I'm proposing because it made me realize how much worse it could have been. How easily I could've lost you again."
Lena sat up with effort, wincing. "You can't just—"
"I love you."
Silence.
Pure and deafening.
Lena's heart began to race.
"You love me now? After everything?"
"I think I always did," he said. "But I didn't understand it. I thought I was immune to that kind of chaos. I thought love would make me weak."
"It does," she whispered. "But it makes you human too."
He stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed, his eyes softer than she had ever seen them.
"I don't want to go back to watching you from afar. I want to be the one who stands beside you. Through storms, and stalkers, and bad cooking."
She let out a watery laugh, even as tears welled up again.
"This isn't how I imagined it," she admitted. "There's no dress, no music, no perfect timing."
"I think we've had enough dramatic timing for one lifetime," he said dryly.
And just like that—no glamour, no crowd—Lena said yes.
The news spread faster than they expected.
Ethan Cross Marries Former Idol Lena Hart in Quiet Ceremony
Photos leaked—Lena in a vintage white dress borrowed from Chloe, Ethan in a black suit with mud still on the hems from the countryside. They looked imperfect.
They looked real.
There were no ivory doves or cathedral bells.No red carpets or designer planners.No flashing lights or velvet aisles lined with orchids.
Just golden leaves.
Just the scent of autumn and fresh earth.
And the tree.
The one in Lena's backyard that had stood silently through her quietest mornings and longest nights. The same tree that had been there the first time Ethan saw her singing while watering her herbs, unaware of anyone watching.
Now, it watched them both.
They decided to hold the ceremony in Fernhollow, just a week after she was discharged from the hospital. Lena's left leg was still wrapped in a soft brace, and she had to walk with a cane, but she insisted on standing through the vows.
"I won't limp to my own wedding like a guest sneaking in late," she joked. "I'll walk down the aisle—even if the aisle is just three meters of lawn."
Chloe arrived the day before with a suitcase full of chaos: a vintage dress from her aunt's attic, a pair of lace gloves that didn't match, and a veil so old it had yellowed slightly at the edges.
"It's all I could get this fast," she said. "Unless you want to wear my prom dress."
Lena touched the delicate lace of the borrowed gown and smiled. "It's perfect."
There were no celebrities in attendance.No famous chefs or string quartets.
Just Chloe, her boyfriend Marcus (who brought his camera), Ethan's sister Miranda, a couple of security staff, and a very spoiled stray cat who refused to leave the flower arch.
Lena baked the cake herself—simple vanilla with sugared cranberries and wildflower honey. Ethan tried to help but ended up with frosting on his shirt and Lena's laughter filling the kitchen.
They used folding chairs borrowed from the town's chapel and covered them in mismatched linens.
It wasn't polished.
It wasn't grand.
But it was theirs.
They stood beneath the tree—Lena in her vintage dress, hair in a loose bun with stray tendrils kissing her neck; Ethan in a crisp black suit Chloe had picked out last minute (still faintly smelling of the countryside from his last visit).
The wind picked up just as she reached him.
He instinctively reached out, steadying her as her cane slipped slightly on the grass.
Their eyes met.
No nerves. Just certainty.
"I, Ethan Cross," he began, voice clear, "take you, Lena Hart, as you are—braver than you know, stronger than you show, and more loved than you'll ever understand."
She blinked back tears.
"I promise not to run. Not from you, not from us, not from the messiness of being human. I promise to show up. Every single day."
Lena's hands trembled slightly as she held his.
"I, Lena Hart," she said softly, "take you, Ethan Cross, as you are—imperfect, impossible, and everything I never dared to ask for."
"I promise not to disappear behind smiles or fears. I promise to fight for us, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
Chloe sobbed audibly from the front row.
Marcus handed her another tissue.
They kissed beneath the canopy of falling leaves—slow, gentle, healing. When they pulled apart, the applause came quietly but warmly.
Lena laughed.
And Ethan smiled the way he only ever did when he looked at her.
At the reception, there were picnic blankets instead of tables.Cups of apple cider.Warm bread, pumpkin soup, and hand-folded dumplings Chloe insisted on making because "there's nothing more romantic than carbs."
They danced—or tried to.Ethan held Lena close, carefully swaying with her in the twilight. She rested her head on his chest.
"You're going to get bored of this quiet life," she teased.
"Not a chance," he whispered into her hair.
They stayed in Fernhollow for their honeymoon.
They fed the cat.Baked more bread.Watched the stars from the porch.And planted tulips around the tree as a symbol of new beginnings.
Each morning, Ethan would catch Lena singing again—this time barefoot, in his old shirt, humming off-key while she poured water into the garden.
And every time she looked back and saw him watching…
She smiled.
Because this time, she wasn't pretending.
This time, she was loved exactly as she was.
The End.