WHEN MY FIANCEE SUGGESTED HAVING PICTURES OF HER LATE HUSBAND AT OUR WEDDING, I WAS STUNNED. WHO ASKES TO BRING PICTURES OF THEIR DECEASED SPOUSE TO A NEW MARRIAGE CELEBRATION? BUT I AGREED… WITH A SURPRISING CONDITION.
My fiancée, Lori, and I have been together for three years. We got engaged six months ago. Everything had been going smoothly—until one night.
We were making some wedding plans, and she mentioned, “WHERE DO YOU THINK LOGAN’S PICTURE COULD GO?”
I was confused and asked her to clarify.
She said she wanted her late husband’s picture at the wedding. At my request, she went into more detail.
She wants ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS TO HOLD HIS PICTURE during the ceremony, as well as having his picture ON OUR TABLE. And when it comes to taking pictures, she wants TO HOLD IT IN MOST OF THE PHOTOS.
I was stunned—was I really supposed to share my wedding with her late husband?
But after thinking it over for a bit, I replied, “Okay, I agree, but with one condition.”
⸻
My life had been going absolutely fine until the day Lori and I were talking about our wedding plans. Lori said something that made me question if I was marrying the right woman.
Let me rewind a bit.
I work as a business analyst at one of the top companies in the city. I’ve been there for four years, and my career is going pretty well. I love my job because it allows me to meet all kinds of people with different perspectives.
In fact, my job is the reason I met Lori in the first place.
She joined the company around the same time I did. We were assigned to the same project, and we clicked right away.
She was smart, funny, and had a way of looking at problems that made them seem solvable. We started as colleagues, became friends, and over time, something more.
“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.
Those coffees turned into lunches, lunches into dinners, and before I knew it, we were a couple. It was easy to talk to her, and she made me laugh like no one else.
At the beginning of our relationship, Lori told me about Logan, her late husband. They had been married for two years when he died in a car accident four years ago. I could see the pain in her eyes when she spoke about him, and I respected that he had been such an important part of her life.
“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 seemed natural that she talked about him. He was such an important part of her story, and sharing those memories was her way of grieving. I never felt threatened by a man who was no longer here.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
Six months ago, I proposed to her. We were at her favorite restaurant, and I had the ring in my pocket all night, waiting for the right moment.
“Lori,” I said, taking her hand across the table, “these past few years have been the happiest of my life. Will you marry me?
”
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. “He’s still important to me, Brandon. I can’t pretend he never existed.”
I sat back in my chair, truly stunned.
A MAN SITTING IN HIS CHAIR | Source: Midjourney
Was I really going to share my wedding day with her late husband? The day that was supposed to be about us, our future, and our love story… Was I supposed to make space for a ghost?
“Don’t you think this is a little… unusual?” I asked, trying to keep my tone calm.
“I don’t see why,” she replied, her tone growing more defensive. “A lot of people honor their deceased loved ones at their weddings.”
“Yes, with a candle or a mention in the program,” I retorted. “Not making them present throughout the ceremony and having them appear in our wedding photos. This isn’t a memorial service. It’s our wedding day.”
A MAN SPEAKING WHILE LOOKING FORWARD | Source: Midjourney
“You’re being insensitive,” she shot back. “Logan was a huge part of my life.”
“And I’ve respected that from day one,” I replied. “I’ve listened to all the stories, seen all the photos, and even visited his grave with you on his birthday. But our wedding day should be about us. About our beginning. Not about your past.”
We went back and forth like that for hours. Neither of us was willing to give in. Finally, I threw my hands up in surrender.
A MAN RAISING HIS HANDS IN SURRENDER | Source: Midjourney
“Look, I don’t want to fight about this tonight. Let me think about it, okay? It’s a big decision.”
She nodded, but from the tightness of her jaw, I could tell she wasn’t happy. That night, we went to bed with an uncomfortable silence between us.
The rest of the night, I wrestled with my emotions. Was I being selfish? Was this just her way of processing grief? Or was I about to marry someone who was still in love with a ghost?
THE WINDOW OF AN APARTMENT AT NIGHT | Source: Pexels
By morning, I had made a decision.
I was already at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee when Lori came downstairs. She looked tired, as though she hadn’t slept much.
“Good morning,” she said cautiously, pouring herself some coffee.
“Good morning,” I replied. I waited for her to sit down across from me. “Lori, I’ve thought about it, and I’ll agree to your request. But with one condition.”
A MAN’S HANDS ON A TABLE | Source: Pexels
“Thank you, Brandon,” she said with a huge smile. “What’s the condition?”
I took a deep breath. “If Logan can be at our wedding, then Beverly can be too.”
Lori frowned. “Who is Beverly?”
She stared at me with wide eyes.
I nodded. “If you can honor the man you loved before me, it’s only fair that I can do the same. Maybe we can put her picture next to Logan’s. And for the ceremony, I can have one of my groomsmen hold a photo of hers as well. And during our first dance, I’d love to have her photo close to my heart.
”
A MAN SPEAKING TO HIS FIANCEE | Source: Midjourney
“But… that’s completely different,” she stammered.
“Is it? Why?” I asked. “Because you were married to Logan and Beverly and I were just dating? Or because Logan passed away and Beverly and I broke up? What’s the difference, really?”
“It’s not the same at all!” Lori insisted. “Logan didn’t choose to leave me. He was taken from me.”
“So, it’s about honoring someone who didn’t want to leave you,” I said calmly. “But Beverly didn’t want to leave me either. We broke up because she moved across the country to get her dream job. Neither of us wanted it to end.”
A MAN LOOKING UPSET SITTING OUTDOORS | Source: Pexels
She fell silent, staring at her coffee cup as if it held the answers.
I stood up and placed my cup in the sink. “Lori, I love you. But if you’re not ready to let go of Logan enough to celebrate our wedding instead of a stranger’s funeral… then maybe you’re not ready to be my wife.”
She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with tears. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I leaned against the counter. “Lori, you’ve been talking about Logan since the day we met. At first, I didn’t mind. I understood that he was an important part of your life. But it’s been four years since he passed, and sometimes I feel like he’s still more present in your life than I am.”
A MAN STANDING IN A KITCHEN | Source: Midjourney
“That’s not true,” she protested weakly.
“You keep his photo next to our bed. You visit his grave every month. You compare restaurant meals to the ones he would have liked. You even call his parents every Sunday,” I said gently. “I’ve never complained about any of that because I know how much you loved him. But our wedding day? That should be for starting our life together.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t want to forget him.” 
“Nobody’s asking you to forget him,” I said, kneeling beside her chair. “But you can’t keep one foot in the past if you want to move forward with me. You have to let him go, at least enough to make room for us.”
SILHOUETTE OF A MAN | Source: Midjourney
She didn’t say anything, just stared at her hands in her lap.
We didn’t talk much for the rest of the day. I gave her space, working late at the office and picking up takeout on my way home. But that night, I noticed something. The photo of Logan that had always been on her nightstand? It was gone.
We didn’t talk about it. She never brought up having his photo at our wedding again. It was as if the conversation had never happened.
Three months later, we got married.
A COUPLE SHOWING THEIR WEDDING RINGS ON THEIR WEDDING DAY | Source: Pexels
And on our wedding day, it was just the two of us making promises to each other. No ghosts between us.
Later, Lori told me that my “Beverly condition” had forced her to see how unfair she had been. “I realized I was asking you to marry both me and my memories,” she said. “That wasn’t right.”
I learned something important from all this: Sometimes, loving someone means helping them see when they’re stuck in the past. And sometimes, the kindest thing you can do is hold up a mirror so they can see it for themselves.
A MAN SMILING | Source: Midjourney
Moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting the people we’ve loved. It just means making room in our hearts for a new love to grow. Lori still keeps a small photo of Logan in her desk drawer and even sometimes tells me stories about him.
Honestly, I don’t mind now because I know I no longer compete with a memory.
