At the ceremony, my mother-in-law came over to me and took off my wig, showing everyone my naked head. But then something happened that no one could have predicted.
I was in a hospital bed last year and didn’t know whether I would live to see the next month, let alone get married. I had been fighting cancer, a terrible war that ruined my body, my mind, and my whole life. The treatments never ended. The chemotherapy made me weak, and with each dose, I lost pieces of what made me who I am. I started by thinking about my strength. Then I got hungry. My hair came next.
There were days when I couldn’t look in the mirror because I didn’t know who I was anymore, not because I was scared of what I saw. But he stuck around through it all. He held my hand while I walked through the hospital, gave me jokes to help me sleep, and wiped my tears when I woke up shaking. When the doctor finally declared, “You are cancer-free,” I cried not only because I was happy, but also because he had stayed for me and never left.
Not long after that, he asked her to marry him. It wasn’t flashy or huge. We were sitting on the couch in our pajamas and eating takeout. “Will you marry me?” he asked as he stared at me, bald, frail, and wrapped in a blanket. And I did. No doubt about it.
At that point, the wedding became my new aim. After all the fear, something fun to look forward to. I put my heart into it. I chose soft lilac colors, vintage lace, and a bouquet of peonies and wildflowers from my yard. I saw myself walking down the aisle, looking bright and fresh. But my reflection revealed a different story: I had no hair, tired eyes, and a thin body that I didn’t even recognize.
I bought a wig. I didn’t get a wig to hide my looks; I got it to feel more like the woman I used to be. I didn’t tell a lot of people about it. My close friends, family, and groom were the only ones who knew what was going on. I didn’t think anyone else needed to know. It wasn’t shame; it was survival.
But my mother-in-law has never liked me. Even before I got sick, she had been staring at me with cold politeness. When I got sick, the warmth went away totally. Even though she never said it out loud, I could feel that she thought I was weak, broken, and maybe not able to have kids. Her son needed someone who was alive, strong, and whole. Someone else.
I believed the wedding would make things better. I hoped in my brain that she would alter her mind. I thought that seeing her son happy would change her mind. But instead, she did something I’ll never forget.
The ceremony was just beginning. There was delicate music playing and people were whispering in excitement all across the chapel. The chapel was glowing with golden light. I stood next to the man at the altar who had never let go of my hand. My heart was full. There was a lot of love in the room.
Then she walked down the aisle with a purpose, not with elegance or respect. I thought she could be coming to pray or say something nice. Instead, she stepped forward with her eyes wide open and her lips thin. She quickly reached out and ripped the wig off my head.
In that one moment, my secret was out and no longer mine. My bald head was a sign of my fight, my pain, and my survival that everyone could see.
“See! There is no hair on her! She laughed, and her voice was full of rage. “I told you. But you didn’t listen.
The room halted for a moment. There was a rapid breath. Some people fled right away, while others blinked in bewilderment. A few other people struggled to hold back their laughter because they assumed it was a joke. I’ll never forget this. I put my hands on my head as if that would help me get my dignity back. My cheeks hurt. My chest felt tight. I couldn’t breathe.
I cried a lot. I didn’t cry because I was humiliated about being bald. Someone took my choice and used it as a weapon, which made me cry.
But then, out of nowhere, I felt warm all around me. Strong, sure arms curled over my shoulders.
My hubby. My husband.
He hugged me, gently put his forehead on mine, and then turned to face the woman who had just tried to ruin our day.
“Mom,” he said, his voice firm but not trembling. “Now you have to go.”
She blinked in surprise, and her lips were already half-open to argue. But he wouldn’t let her say anything.
“You are being rude to my wife. You are not being respectful to me. I made my choice, and I would choose her again a thousand times. She is stronger than anyone else I know, thus I would give up everything for her. If you can’t respect that, you don’t belong here today.
She thought about it. She looked different. She looked around the room at the eyes that were watching her, not with support, but with judgment. And then, for the first time, I saw something peculiar in her eyes: shame.
He kept going, but this time he spoke more softly, albeit with the same strength.
“Do you remember when you were sick? When you thought Dad would go? He didn’t go. He loved you despite everything. That’s how much I love her. Go ahead. Don’t make things worse.
There was no sound in the room. Then she gently turned. Stop chatting. She gave up. She went away on her own.
And then something incredible happened.
People who were there, including strangers, friends, and family, began to stand up. One by one. Some people clapped, some nodded, and some just smiled even though they were crying. My dad walked up and kissed me on the head. My maid of honor gave me a tissue with hands that were shaking.
At that moment, I felt more beautiful than I had ever felt.
Not because of my clothes, hair, or makeup, but because I was seen. I was loved. I was loved not in spite of my wounds, but because of them. Because I didn’t give up. Because I said the truth. Because I had made the choice to be joyful.
My partner took my hand, looked me in the eyes, and murmured sweetly, “From now on, everything will be fine.” We will face life together.
And we did. We moved on, not into a perfect life, but a real one, even though we were bald and had a troubled past. A strong one. One that was based on love, truth, and kindness that couldn’t be broken by anyone.
She couldn’t even break her will.