I take a last look at myself in the mirror. Between the stark white lace of my wedding dress and the movie-magic makeup that somehow erased months of stress from my skin, I look like a bride—not like a girl playing the part for the cameras, but like a real bride. For all the frantic effort that went into making this moment happen, I almost didn’t really believe I’d ever see myself like this. I spent years after my breakup with Holden watching my friends pair off and find love—and I didn’t. I knew that stumbling into a relationship is a mere matter of luck, but the darkest sliver of my anxious mind worried that being alone was my fault, somehow.

Maybe I was too busy, too ambitious, too messy, too vocal about too many of my opinions to let love in. Maybe there was something fundamentally unlovable about me. Maybe I was quick to cling to this façade of a wedding because deep down, I worried this would be my only possible shot at a happily-ever-after. The second that awful thought bubbles up, I know it’s the truth.

I’ve spent six months stuffing these feelings down because I had a single goal: to save my company at whatever cost. But now, I can’t ignore how I feel anymore. I choke up and clap my hand over my mouth to muffle a painful sob. My engagement ring catches the light and sparkles obnoxiously in front of my face. Tears pinprick at the corner of my eyes again as everything sinks in: I am a bride. There is nothing unlovable about me. And today, along with sweet, sexy Raj, in front of my family and my friends and a hundred thousand strangers on the internet, I’m going to celebrate that.

The makeup artist steps in with a damp makeup-removing wipe to dab away under my eyes one last time.

“I promise I’ll stop crying soon,” I tell her.

“Oh, I doubt that, but don’t worry,” she says. “It’s normal to be an emotional wreck on your wedding day. It’s why we use waterproof mascara.”

I love that she uses the word “normal.” I exhale a steady stream of breath to calm myself. I can do this. I can do this. I hug everyone goodbye. The photographer opens the door to the hotel’s hallway for me. Together, we make our way to the elevator. I savor the feeling of walking down the stretch of corridor. The next time I make a walk like this in my wedding dress, I’ll be heading down the aisle.