Chapter 4: Shooting for Wishes

On the day of the wedding, I figured hardly anyone would show up.

After all, everyone knew the President had it out for me.

Who would’ve thought he’d show up himself, with the whole city council and every bigwig in tow?

It was the kind of crowd that usually gathers for a mayor’s funeral, not a small wedding. Back in the day, drinking and talking, he once said if I ever got married, he’d be there to witness it, so everyone would know we were like brothers.

Now, he kept his word.

I sat in my wheelchair, pushed right up in front of him.

There were American flags draped everywhere, the mayor’s wife eyeing me like I was some charity case. "I hear there’s a local tradition of shooting three colored targets. Since I’m here in person to offer my congratulations, I wonder if Colonel West could give us a demonstration?"

As soon as he finished, a staffer tossed a bow at my feet.

So he wasn’t here to congratulate me—he was here to humiliate me in front of everyone.

He knew my hands were messed up and I couldn’t pull a bow anymore.

But he still wanted to see me make a fool of myself.

Looking at the colored targets set up in the distance, I fell silent.

The councilmen and city officials crowded behind him, not one daring to say a word.

You could practically taste the tension—no one wanting to be the first to speak. Just then, a bright, clear voice rang out: "So this is why we haven’t done the vows yet—what a party out here!"

"Why’s the bride come out on her own?"

"And even lifted her veil!"

"Completely out of line."

The officials, who’d been silent, suddenly erupted.

They’d heard rumors she was a little odd, but never expected her to be this bold.

Natalie Carter, dressed in white, was stunning.

She stood tall in front of me and bowed to the President: "Mr. President, the hour’s getting late. Why not let me shoot the targets?"

Her voice was steady, with the kind of small-town twang that says you’re not afraid of anyone—not even the President.

"You’re kidding."

"This girl is just too much."

"Did she just grab the bow? Man, that’s a first around here."

Maybe their snickering amused the President, because he just grinned and nodded.

Natalie smiled, took the bow from my hand, nocked a colored arrow, acting like she couldn’t hear a single one of their snide remarks.

She squared her shoulders, her hands steady even as her cheeks flushed pink. "First wish: May husband and wife be happy, and may we have more than enough."

It was like a Fourth of July carnival game, but with everyone watching to see if I’d fail. The arrow flew, hitting the first colored target, colored paper fluttering down.

The laughter in the hall faded. Even the President looked surprised. She jumped with excitement, then nocked the second arrow. "Second wish: May you always be healthy, safe, and sound."

With a sharp whistle, colored paper rained down again.

Now the crowd was dead silent.

She cheered, and as she reached for the third arrow, I grabbed her hand.

She looked at me, confused.

I pulled a small crossbow from my wheelchair armrest, aimed at the last colored target. "Third wish: May Natalie’s life be smooth, and all her dreams come true."

A burst of colored paper filled the air. The faces in the crowd were even more colorful than the confetti. In all their years, they’d never seen anything like this, and didn’t know how to react.

The President was the same.

He stared at everything in front of him, speechless.

Not a single guest had come to truly celebrate.

They were just following orders, numb and indifferent.

But my wife was like a blazing torch, cutting through all their hypocrisy.

In the rain of colored paper, Natalie looked up, her face shining with happiness. She clapped and cheered, pushing my wheelchair toward the hall. "Let’s go, time for the vows!"

The crunch of leaves under her sneakers and the cool autumn air made the moment feel almost normal. The autumn wind carried away the last shreds of awkwardness. For a brief moment, we were just two people at a backyard wedding, breaking all the old rules.