My fiancée insisted on including photos of her late husband at our...
My fiancée insisted on including photos of her late husband at our wedding — I agreed, but on one condition.
When my fiancée brought up the idea of displaying photos of her late husband at our wedding, I was taken aback. Who thinks to include images of a deceased spouse at a celebration of a new marriage? Still, I agreed — but only under one surprising condition.
Lori and I have been together for three years, and we got engaged six months ago. Everything had felt right—until that one conversation changed everything.
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We were casually discussing wedding details when she asked, “Where do you think Logan’s picture should go?”
I thought I misheard and asked her to explain.
She told me she wanted to include her late husband’s photo in the ceremony. Not just a small tribute — she wanted one of her bridesmaids to carry his photo down the aisle, place it on our head table, and for her to pose with it in most of our wedding photos.
I was stunned. Was I really being asked to share my wedding day with her late husband?
But after thinking it over for a bit, I replied, “Okay, I agree, but with one condition.”
Everything in my life was going smoothly—until one day, during a conversation with Lori about our wedding plans, she said something that made me seriously question whether I was about to marry the right person.
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But let me take a step back.
I work as a business analyst at one of the city’s leading firms. I’ve been with the company for four years now, and my career is on a solid path. One of the things I enjoy most about my job is that it gives me the chance to interact with people from all walks of life, each bringing their own unique perspective.
Actually, it was through this job that I met Lori.
We both joined the company around the same time and ended up on the same project team. We hit it off almost immediately.
Lori was sharp, witty, and had a refreshing way of tackling problems that made even tough situations seem manageable. We started out as coworkers, became good friends, and before long, our relationship evolved into something deeper.
“Brandon, can you review these numbers before the meeting?” she’d ask, sliding a folder across my desk with that smile that always made me forget what I was doing.
“Only if you have coffee with me afterward,” I’d reply, and she’d pretend to think about it before agreeing.
Our coffee breaks gradually turned into lunch dates, then dinners—and before I realized it, we were officially together. Talking to her was effortless, and no one could make me laugh the way she did.
Early on in our relationship, Lori opened up to me about her late husband, Logan. They had been married for two years before he tragically passed away in a car accident four years ago. Whenever she spoke about him, the sorrow in her eyes was unmistakable, and I truly respected how much he had meant to her.
“He loved hiking,” she told me once during dinner. “We went to Colorado for our first anniversary, and he insisted on climbing that ridiculous mountain at dawn.”
“Was it worth it?” I asked.
“The views were amazing,” she said, her eyes distant. “But mostly I remember how happy he looked when we reached the top.”
It felt completely normal for her to talk about him—he had been a significant part of her life, and reminiscing seemed to be her way of processing the loss. I never felt intimidated by someone who was no longer alive.
Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
Six months ago, I asked her to marry me. We were dining at her favorite restaurant, and I had the ring in my pocket the entire evening, just waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question
“Lori,” I said, taking her hand across the table, “these past few years have been the happiest of my life. Will you marry me?
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Her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, of course.”
Everything had been going smoothly until last week. We were going over the wedding plans at the kitchen table, reviewing the seating arrangements and floral decorations.
“Where do you think Logan’s portrait could go?” Lori asked casually, as if she were asking about the placement of a centerpiece.
I looked up from the guest list I was reviewing. “What do you mean?”
“Logan’s picture,” she repeated, furrowing her brow slightly. “For the wedding. I thought one of my bridesmaids could hold his photo during the ceremony.”
I put down my pen. “Hold his portrait during the ceremony?”
“Yes, and I’d like to have his picture on our table. And when we take pictures, I want to have his photo in most of them.”
I stared at her, waiting for her to laugh and tell me she was joking. She didn’t.
“Lori,” I said carefully, “are you saying you want your late husband to be part of our wedding day?”
“Of course,” she replied.
