Not in the Script

4

Brylee's hand was already clutched in Colin's, and he wasn't just holding it. He was gripping it like it was the one thing keeping him steady, like if he let go for even a second, she might slip away.

And she knew why.

Kaitlyn exhaled, steadying herself, then finally spoke.

"I know a lot of you know Brylee as the beautiful, talented, funny, kind woman she is today. But before she was all of that, she was a little girl standing on my parents' doorstep with a backpack and a stuffed rabbit missing an ear."

Brylee squeezed her eyes shut. Colin clenched his jaw, his thumb running circles over the back of her hand.

"She was eight years old. Eight. And she didn't believe in words like home or family. She thought love was something you had to earn—something that could be taken away the second you messed up. She was convinced she was just a guest in people's lives."

Brylee turned into Colin, her body curling into him like she was bracing herself.

Kaitlyn's voice cracked.

"But my parents took one look at that tiny, scared girl and said, 'She's ours.' And I need you all to understand—Brylee didn't believe it.

She didn't believe it when my mom tucked her in at night.

She didn't believe it when my dad introduced her as his daughter at parent-teacher conferences.

She didn't believe it when we made space for her at every holiday, every dinner, every moment.

Every single night, she'd whisper to me in the dark, 'Do you think they'll let me stay one more day?'

And every night, I would tell her, 'Brylee, you're home.'"

Brylee choked on a sob, and Colin—Colin was gone.

His free hand covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he fought to keep himself together. But the moment Brylee turned and buried her face into his shoulder, he lost the fight.

Tears fell freely down his face. He wasn't just crying—he was breaking.

Because he knew.

He knew this woman—the love of his life—had spent her entire childhood waiting to be left.

And even after all this time, some part of her still didn't believe she could be someone's forever.

Kaitlyn turned to Colin now, her own eyes wet.

"And then you came along."

Colin closed his eyes, chest heaving.

"And I watched it happen again. I watched her brace for impact, waiting for you to decide she was too much. I watched her convince herself that she wasn't allowed to have this kind of love.

And I watched you—Colin Jost—prove her wrong every single day."

Colin let out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling under the weight of this moment.

"She tried to push you away, and you just pulled her closer.

She tried to convince you that she was easier to leave, and you just held on tighter.

And then one day, for the first time in her entire life...

She stopped waiting for the door to close."