Zac's POV
Being back home, everything hit me at once. The silence between projects. The late-night toddler wake-ups. The doctor's appointments. The "baby brain" my girl swears she doesn't have but absolutely does. And the fact that we were still calling each other fiancé and fiancée instead of husband and wife.
Production had been paused for a couple weeks now. Jordan said it was "creative downtime," but we all knew it was because half the cast was expecting. He worked Fatima's pregnancy into the storyline like the genius he is—had her character pregnant in the finale cliffhanger and everything. But our other co-star? He wasn't bending. So now we're on this unplanned break, and the house has been filled with the buzz of uncertainty.
And if I'm being honest—I'm tired of waiting.
I'm tired of the countdown to something we already act like we are. We got the house. We got the kid. We got the one on the way. The commitment's there. I look at Fatima and see forever already. So why wait?
I was watching her from the kitchen, pacing the living room in one of my hoodies and her bonnet, trying to get Kolby to sit down long enough to get her hair in two puffs.
"Mama, ouch!" Kolby said with her little lip poked out, her favorite Bluey episode paused on the screen.
"Peanut, I'm barely touching your head," Tima said with a sigh, but I could hear the patience in her voice, the mama tone she's perfected.
And damn if it didn't hit me in that moment—this is it. This is what I prayed for without even realizing it. A home. A woman who loves my child like her own. A baby girl on the way who's already wrapped around my heart. And a fiancée who makes me want to be a better man every day.
I dried my hands on a towel and walked over to her.
"Tima," I said, rubbing her back gently. She looked over her shoulder.
"Hmm?"
"You still wanna wait to get married?"
She blinked at me, surprised. "I mean... we said after the baby, right?"
"Yeah, we did. But that was before we were already acting like we married anyway. I don't need the big wedding right now. I just need you. Like officially."
She looked at me, searching my face.
"We can still have the wedding," I said. "We can do the big ass celebration later. But I don't wanna go another day without calling you my wife for real."
Kolby looked up from her mirror and chimed in like she was part of the conversation. "So I get cake now or later?"
We both laughed, and Tima shook her head, but she smiled.
"You serious?" she asked.
I stepped closer, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I've never been more serious. Let's do it, Tima. Let's get married now."
And just like that, I saw her eyes shift. That smile—the one she gives me when I say the thing she was already thinking.
"Okay," she said, nodding. "Let's do it."
I saw it all play out in my head before it even happened—her in that dress, walking beside me into the courthouse, our little family standing solid. I wanted that moment. Not a moment with five hundred people watching, not a production, not something for Instagram. Just us. Just Fatima, Kolby, and me. And the little heartbeat we'd heard weeks ago growing inside her.
"Zachary, why are you in such a rush though?" she asked me earlier, her hand resting on her belly like she always does when she's thinking.
"Because, baby," I told her, "I can't wait for you to have my last name. I want us to all be Taylors when baby girl gets here."
Simple as that.
So while she was finishing up Kolby's hair—because our toddler got a full-blown spa treatment every time her mama did her hair—I pulled the little white dress out the closet. Something simple but classy, with a soft silk drape and buttons down the back I knew would hug her body just right.
I laid it across the bed with a note:
"Throw this on. Trust me.
– Your soon-to-be husband."
By the time she walked into the room and saw the dress, I was standing by the bathroom mirror, adjusting my collar. She didn't say anything at first—just picked up the dress and smiled.
"Zac," she whispered, holding it up.
"We don't need a crowd. We just need the moment," I said, walking over and kissing her forehead. "You ready?"
She nodded, eyes glassy like she was trying not to cry. But she didn't. Because Fatima Marie Wilson was a real one—and soon she'd be Fatima Marie Taylor.
I had Serena help Kolby get dressed while we got ourselves together. Kolby had on a little white dress too, with pink bows and her curls pulled into two neat puffs.
When we stepped out, all dressed and ready, my girl looked so damn good I swear I forgot how to breathe for a second.
"You sure you don't want me to post a fit pic?" she teased, doing a little twirl.
"Nah, you're mine today. All mine. The world don't need to see this."
We packed up, got into the car, and headed to the courthouse. I couldn't stop smiling. And when I looked in the backseat and saw Kolby playing with her doll and calling Fatima "Mommy," I knew this was it.
I ain't even gonna lie — I did this a little backwards. Made the appointment without running it by Fatima first. But I know my woman. She might roll her eyes, she might hit me with a "Zachary..." in that tone that makes me freeze up, but she rarely tells me no when she knows my heart's in it. And this? This was all heart.
We pulled up to the courthouse, just the three of us — me, Fatima, and Kolby. I stepped out first and opened the door for my girls, watching Fatima slide out in that white dress I picked out. She looked like everything I ever prayed for.
"You really did this?" she asked, looking around as if she still didn't believe me.
"I did," I said with a grin. "And you didn't say no."
She gave me that side-eye but took my hand anyway, walking in like she was ready to be Mrs. Taylor. And that's all I needed.
What she didn't know was, even though this wasn't some big production, I came prepared. I had my vows folded in my back pocket — handwritten on real paper, not my phone, because this wasn't just a formality for me. This was a moment. Our moment.
Once we were in the little room, I whispered to the officiant that I had a few words to say. She nodded, and when it came time, I stepped forward, facing Fatima, who looked both surprised and ready for whatever I was about to do.
"I know we're here doing this the simple way," I said, looking into her eyes, "but there's nothing simple about what you mean to me. You didn't just change my life — you became it. You've been more than a partner. You stepped into my chaos, loved me through it, loved Kolby through it, and now you're carrying our future. I promise to love you on your best days and your worst. I promise to protect this family, to choose you every time, and to never stop showing you just how much I prayed for you before I even knew your name."
I saw the tears forming in her eyes, and before she could speak, the officiant asked, "Would you like to say something in return, Ms. Wilson?"
Fatima looked at me, then at Kolby—who was sitting with her legs crossed and her chin in her hand like she was watching a movie—and then back at me.
"I didn't prepare anything," she said softly, "but I guess that's what loving you has always been like... unplanned but perfect. Zac, I used to think love had to be complicated. But you made it feel safe. You made it feel like home. And standing here now, becoming your wife, I feel like I'm finally where I'm supposed to be. I promise to love you with everything I've got, to be your peace when the world isn't, and to raise our babies in a home that reflects the love you've given me."
And just like that, they told us to say "I do."
We did.
And Fatima Marie Taylor became official. No crowd, no cameras, no filters Just us.
