Until death do us part.

We met in the last years of high school through church and mutual friends. At first, we were simply part of the same circle—spending long summer days at Cedar Point, late nights at Roosters, and far too many ice cream runs to Nancy’s Scoops. Jagger’s joy and lightheartedness made him someone everyone wanted to be around, and slowly, I realized I was developing feelings for him. By the time that summer ended, our friend group was shifting, and I worried about losing touch with him. One of my clearest memories from that time is asking Jagger to be my partner during Vacation Bible School. It was such a simple thing, but that week changed everything. We grew close, and without saying much, both of us knew something was different. Still, neither of us was quick to act. Jagger wrestled with his nerves and sought advice from a friend over a late-night tater tot casserole. That same night, at 2 a.m., he showed up on the porch where I was staying—casserole in hand—just to see me. We sat and talked for hours under the quiet of the night, both of us waiting for the right moment. That moment finally came a week later, when plans for a group movie night at Jagger’s house fell through. Everyone canceled but me. What could have been an awkward evening became something unforgettable. We laughed over our failed cookie dough, sat side by side for a movie, and when the credits rolled, Jagger reached for my hand and told me how he felt. From then on, our story was no longer uncertain. We began carving out time just for the two of us. Our first date was a picnic in the park in downtown Chillicothe, where two swans appeared at the edge of the pond, circling quietly nearby. Two years later, when Jagger brought me back to that same spot to propose, the swans returned. Knowing that swans are monogamous birds, it felt like a gentle sign to remind us that our love is for a lifetime.