When Forever is Just a Moment
She had a husband. A home. A future that felt certain.
And then… it didn’t.
Now, Brandi Broke is just trying to keep the pieces together.
A pizza in one hand, Beau’s carrier in the other, she barely makes it up the porch before nausea hits her like a brick. It comes fast, stealing her breath, bending her in half.
Deep breaths. In. Out. It’s just stress.
But as she steadies herself, her eyes land on his car. The one that still sits in the driveway, collecting dust and regret. She can’t bring herself to move it. Can’t bring herself to touch it. Some part of her still expects to see him climb out, toss her that lazy grin, say What’s for dinner, Bunny? like it’s just another night.
Her fingers tighten around the pizza box.
He’s gone.
And just like that, she’s not standing in front of her house anymore.
Skip’s parents thought they were out running errands.
They were watching Dustin—just barely a month old, still so tiny, still so new—while Skip and Brandi “picked up diapers.”
Instead, they picked forever.
The candles flicker. The soft hum of the old church fills the space where guests should be. The altar is bathed in gold, a setting fit for a fairy tale—pink florals, white lace, the warmth of something sacred.
But Skip isn’t looking at the candles. Or the flowers. Or even at her. His eyes linger on the empty pews. Brandi follows his gaze. She knew this would be hard for him—Skip, who had always been the life of every party, the loudest voice in every room. His family should have been here, his father clapping him on the back, his mother fussing over his tie. Instead, it was just them.
Just them, and the promise they were making.
She squeezes his hands, grounding him. We don’t have to do this alone, she whispers. We can tell them. We can wait. Skip looks at her then, really looks at her. And the weight of the moment fades into something softer.
"I don’t need anyone else here." He says it with certainty. With love. "It’s me and you, Bunny. Always."
The words settle in her chest, warm and steady. She believes him. She wants to believe him. And so they say their vows. Just the two of them, in a too-big church, in a too-quiet room.
They promised forever.
But forever came too soon.
And now, the silence is louder.
A gust of wind shakes the trees, snapping her back into the cold. She’s not in that church. She’s not in his arms. She’s standing in a driveway that still has his car in it, holding dinner for a family that feels smaller than it should be.
Her stomach twists again.
Skip, I don’t know how to do this without you.
She wants to be bitter. Wants to be angry at the universe for taking him away, for making her do this alone. But right now, she just feels tired. And as nausea threatens to pull her under again, another thought wedges its way in, one she doesn’t want to have.
It’s not just stress.
It’s not just grief.
Deep down, she already knows.
