In summer 1981, Lillian and Ryan prepared for the opening night of Ryan’s art gallery. Lillian had promoted the event while Ryan handled contractors and lighting, emphasizing that “most of art is light.” The gallery featured paintings, photographs, and small sculptures. A strong turnout included buyers from a senior center, and a Fort Worth Star-Telegram journalist expressed interest, especially after learning Ryan would donate a portion of proceeds to Catholic Charities.

As the night wound down, Elise congratulated them before leaving. In the quiet after closing, Ryan told Lillian he loved her, then knelt and proposed with a ring. Lillian accepted immediately. Months later, in February 1982, they married in the same gallery space, celebrated with dancing, and Lillian reflected that, against her better judgment, she now had a family again.

On their Galveston honeymoon, they stayed in a friend-of-a-friend’s bungalow and completed small tasks in exchange for the winter week. They luxuriated in slow mornings and simple plans; Ryan asked how they wanted their story to start, and Lillian answered “Pancakes.” At the beach, wind foiled Ryan’s easel, so he took photos instead, capturing Lillian, the gray seaside, and passersby. When three teen boys got their truck stuck in the sand, Ryan helped push them free and invited them for ice cream, which they declined because of school. Lillian felt a familiar tug of jealousy at how the world’s needs drew Ryan, but they continued their day with ice cream and intimacy back at the bungalow.

Returning to their apartment, they settled into newlywed life and distributed wedding gifts. While Ryan cooked spaghetti, they discussed thank-you notes and admired their home. The dining table made Ryan think of the one from his childhood, under which he used to color. The memory led him to the night he and Elise left his violent father, Barton, bringing Ryan to tears. He criticized himself for crying “because of a table,” comparing his losses to Lillian’s dead parents.

Lillian moved to comfort Ryan, naming what he avoided—violence—and urged him to cry with her. After the emotional crest, Ryan shifted the mood by proposing a combined surname: Bright, from Brighton and Wright. Lillian found it cheesy but better than hyphenations and agreed.

They playfully wrote “Ryan and Lillian Bright” on each other’s skin with eyeliner, letting the new name and shared future eclipse the pain of their individual pasts. The chapter closed with their physical closeness and Lillian’s sense of a new, shared life as the Brights.