Chapter 21: Cotton-Clad Commitments
I told myself I was done waiting.
For love.
For closure.
For Elijah.
It had been months since he walked back into my life, carrying the weight of his silence like it was some kind of apology badge he thought I'd accept.
I wanted to believe him.
God knows I did.
But belief didn't erase the pain.
It didn't undo the nights I cried into my pillow, wondering what I had done wrong.
Didn't take away the way I saw his face in strangers or heard his voice in the quietest corners of my apartment.
So finally, I made a decision.
I let him go.
Not out of anger.
Not out of spite.
But because holding on hurt more than letting go.
And this time, I didn't need to burn my panties to prove it.
They were still mine.
Still my armor.
Still my rebellion.
Still my therapy.
Only now, they weren't tied to anyone else's approval.
Just mine.
----
Letting go wasn't a single moment — it was a process.
I stopped checking my phone for messages.
Stopped replaying our last conversation.
Stopped walking past the coffee shop where we used to sit for hours, wrapped in each other's arms and laughter.
Instead, I focused on me.
On my blog.
On the women who wrote to tell me how much my words meant to them.
On the readers who said my story gave them the courage to wear their truth proudly — whether that meant cotton, lace, silk, or simply confidence.
I went back to Grandma's backyard parties.
Danced barefoot.
Wore my favorite pair — black lace-trimmed, high-waisted, slightly faded from years of love.
And I smiled.
Not because I was over Elijah.
But because I was learning how to live without needing an answer from him.
----
A few weeks later, I got a call from Tia.
"He's at Grandma's house," she said.
I froze. "What?"
"Elijah. He showed up with flowers, a poem, and… a pair of granny panties."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
I chose both.
I arrived just before sunset.
Grandma sat on the porch, sipping sweet tea like she already knew how this would end.
Tia stood beside her, snapping photos with her phone.
And there he was.
Elijah.
In the middle of the yard.
Kneeling.
In front of everyone.
Holding a ring.
And wearing — yes, actually wearing — one of my favorite pairs of granny panties.
Black lace. High waist. Perfectly ruffled.
He looked up at me, eyes full of something I couldn't name.
"Tubo," he said, voice steady but soft, "you taught me that love doesn't have to be loud to be real. You taught me that strength isn't about never breaking — it's about rebuilding stronger after you fall."
He took a breath.
"I lost you once because I couldn't fight my way back to you fast enough. But now, I'm right here. Still in love. Still yours. Still unapologetically standing in your backyard in a pair of panties because I know that's part of what makes you, you ."
Then came the question.
"Will you marry me?"
And suddenly, the world stopped spinning.
Everyone held their breath.
Even Grandma.
----
I didn't say yes right away.
I stood there for a long time, staring at him — at the man who had disappeared when I needed him most, who had left me asking why I hadn't been enough.
And yet, here he was.
Still loving me.
Still fighting for us.
Still willing to wear cotton like a crown just to remind me that he accepted every part of me — even the broken parts.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, cupping his face in my hands.
"You don't get to propose in my underwear and expect me not to cry," I whispered.
He laughed, tears slipping down his cheeks.
I kissed him.
Soft.
Slow.
Full of all the things I couldn't say out loud.
Then I pulled back.
And I said the word that changed everything.
"Yes."
----
People asked me later if I was sure.
If I had forgiven him completely.
If I could ever trust him again.
The truth?
I didn't have all the answers.
But I knew this:
Love wasn't about perfection.
It was about showing up.
Even when you were scared.
Even when you had been hurt.
Even when your fiancé proposed to you in your favorite pair of granny panties.
And I knew one other thing.
This wasn't just a wedding.
It was a celebration of everything I had survived.
Of every tear I had cried.
Of every time I nearly lost myself — only to find my way back, stitch by stitch, lace by lace.
With Elijah by my side.
In cotton.
In love.
In truth.
Forever.