To Hell and Back
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 13: Building Life
PART FIVE: WHOLE
Six Months Later - The Wedding
Kirstie stood in the bridal suite at the small vineyard in Virginia, staring at herself in the full-length mirror. The dress was perfect—elegant, simple, with a slightly shorter hem that showed off her prosthetic leg rather than hiding it. She’d chosen a custom carbon fiber cover for the prosthetic in champagne gold to match the wedding colors.
“You look beautiful,” Ellie said, adjusting the veil. At twenty-two, Ellie had grown into a confident young woman, graduating from college last spring. “Brett’s going to lose it when he sees you.”
“I hope so. I paid a lot for this dress.”
Sam poked his head in. “Dad’s ready to walk you down the aisle. You ready?”
Kirstie took a breath, checked her prosthetic’s battery (fully charged), adjusted her stance, and nodded. “Ready.”
The ceremony was outdoors, intimate—just family and close friends. Kirstie had invited the crew from her crash—Captain Hayes, Lieutenant Morrison, Staff Sergeant Vance—all of whom had survived and recovered. Martinez from boot camp. Dr. Kim and Colonel Martinez from the prosthetic program. The people who’d been part of her journey.
As the music started and Kirstie began walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, she saw Brett at the altar. His expression when he saw her—pure love and wonder—made her eyes sting with tears.
James squeezed her hand as they reached the altar. “Proud of you, sweetheart,” he whispered before placing her hand in Brett’s.
Brett’s eyes were wet as he looked at her. “You’re stunning.”
“You clean up pretty well yourself.”
The ceremony was brief but meaningful. They’d written their own vows, and when it was Kirstie’s turn, she took Brett’s hands and spoke from her heart.
“Brett, you saw me at my absolute worst—broken, suicidal, convinced I had no future. And you never saw me as broken. You saw strength I didn’t know I had. You believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. You waited for me when you had every reason to walk away.” Her voice caught. “You taught me to walk again—literally and metaphorically. And now I want to walk through the rest of my life with you. I love you. Every patient, stubborn, determined part of you.”
Brett smiled through his tears. “That’s my line. I’m the stubborn one.”
The officiant laughed along with the guests.
Brett’s vows were equally emotional. “Kirstie, watching you rebuild your life has been the honor of mine. Your strength, your determination, your refusal to quit—you inspire me every day. I promise to love you in sickness and health, in prosthetic malfunctions and battery failures, through phantom pain and nightmares and all the challenges ahead. I promise to see you always as the warrior you are. I promise to walk beside you, not ahead or behind, for the rest of our lives.”
When they kissed, the small crowd erupted in applause. Staff Sergeant Vance wolf-whistled.
At the reception, during the father-daughter dance, James held Kirstie carefully, mindful of her prosthetic balance.
“Your mother and I never imagined this day would come,” he said quietly. “After the crash, after everything ... we just wanted you to survive. But you did so much more than survive.”
“I learned from you, Dad. You never quit on the farm, even in bad years. I couldn’t quit either.”
“You’re stronger than I ever was.”
“No. Just stubborn.”
When it was time for the first dance as husband and wife, Brett took Kirstie’s hand and led her to the dance floor. She’d worried about this—dancing with a prosthetic, trying not to step on his feet with her mechanical leg, maintaining balance through slow movements.
But Brett held her securely, guiding her through a simple waltz, and she found herself relaxing into his arms.
“See?” he whispered. “You can do anything.”
“With you, maybe.”
“Always with me. That’s kind of the point of marriage.”
Later, during her speech, Kirstie stood before their guests and spoke from the heart.
“Five years ago, I was lying in a hospital bed, having lost my leg, my career, and my will to live. I couldn’t imagine a future that included happiness, love, or purpose. And now...” She looked at Brett, at her family, at the friends who’d supported her journey. “Now I’m standing here, married to the most amazing man I’ve ever met, surrounded by people I love, living a life I never thought possible. To everyone who didn’t give up on me when I’d given up on myself—thank you. And to Brett—thank you for seeing me as more than my injuries. Thank you for loving all of me, even the parts that are carbon fiber and microprocessors.”
She raised her glass. “To second chances. To rebuilding. To love that waits. And to the future—whatever it brings, we’ll face it together.”
The Wedding Night
The hotel suite was elegant—soft lighting, rose petals scattered across the bed, champagne chilling in a bucket. Brett carried Kirstie over the threshold, both of them laughing at the tradition, and set her down gently inside.
As the door closed behind them, the laughter faded, replaced by something heavier. Anticipation. Nervousness. The weight of what came next.
They’d been physical before—kissing, touching, exploring—but they’d both agreed to wait for this. For marriage. For the moment when they could give themselves to each other completely, without reservation.
Now that moment was here, and Kirstie felt her anxiety spike.
Brett seemed to sense it. “Hey,” he said softly, taking her hands. “We don’t have to rush. We have the rest of our lives.”
“I know. I want this. I want you. I’m just...” She took a breath. “I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of you seeing me. Really seeing me. All of me.” She gestured at herself—the elegant wedding dress hiding the scars underneath, the prosthetic leg visible below the hem. “Without the dress, without the makeup, without anything to hide behind. Just me. Scarred, incomplete, broken—”
“Stop.” Brett’s voice was firm but gentle. He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You are not incomplete. You are not broken. You are a warrior who survived a helicopter crash. You are a woman who fought back from the edge of death. You are my wife. And you are beautiful. Every inch of you.”
“You say that now—”
“I’ll say it always. Because it’s true.” He kissed her forehead, then her scarred cheek, then her lips. “Let me show you.”
He moved behind her, his fingers finding the zipper of her dress. He lowered it slowly, reverently, exposing her back inch by inch. The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in white lingerie that had been carefully chosen to accommodate her prosthetic.
Kirstie’s hands moved to cover herself instinctively, but Brett caught them gently.
“Don’t hide from me. Please.”
She let her hands drop, standing before him in her undergarments, feeling more exposed than she’d ever felt in her life. More exposed than in the hospital, more exposed than in physical therapy. Because this wasn’t medical. This was intimate. This was her husband seeing her—really seeing her—for the first time.
Brett circled around to face her, his eyes moving over her body. Not with clinical assessment like doctors and therapists. Not with pity like Ben had looked at her. But with something else entirely.
Desire. Wonder. Love.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.
Kirstie’s eyes stung with tears. “Brett, look at me. Really look. The scars on my face, my shoulder, my—” She gestured to her prosthetic leg, to her residual limb visible above the socket.
“I am looking.” He stepped closer, his hands gentle on her waist. “I see your scars. Every single one. And you know what they tell me? They tell me you survived. They tell me you’re strong. They tell me you’re here, alive, with me.”
His fingers traced the surgical scars on her shoulder—thick, ropy, permanent. “This scar tells me you endured surgery after surgery. It tells me you’re tough beyond measure.”
He moved to her face, tracing the barely-visible lines where her jaw had been wired shut, where her cheekbone had been reconstructed. “These scars tell me you fought back from injuries that should have killed you.”
Then he knelt, his hands gentle on her prosthetic leg. “And this ... this tells me you’re a survivor. A warrior. Someone who didn’t let trauma define them.”
Kirstie was crying now, tears streaming down her scarred face. “I was so afraid you’d see me and be disappointed. That I wouldn’t be enough. That I’d be ... less than what you deserve.”
Brett stood, pulling her close. “You are more than I ever dreamed of. Not despite your scars, not despite your prosthetic. Because of them. Because they’re part of your story. Part of who you are. And I love who you are.”
“I want to take it off,” Kirstie said suddenly. “The prosthetic. I want you to see all of me. But I’m scared to be that vulnerable.”
“Then we’ll do it together.” Brett helped her to the bed, sat beside her, and waited.
With trembling hands, Kirstie released the vacuum seal, the familiar hiss of pressure equalizing filling the quiet room. She removed the socket, set the prosthetic leg aside, and sat there—one biological leg, one residual limb ending mid-thigh.
This was her. Complete reality. No hiding, no pretending, no accommodation. Just Kirstie Roberts Ferguson, above-knee amputee, scarred survivor, sitting before her husband in her most vulnerable state.
Brett’s eyes never left hers. “Thank you. For trusting me. For letting me see all of you.”
“And you still want me? Like this?”
“Like this. Exactly like this.” He kissed her, deep and passionate and real. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”
What followed was tender and patient and loving. Brett took his time, learning every inch of her body—the scarred parts and the smooth parts, the strong parts and the vulnerable parts. His hands were reverent, his kisses worshipful, his words a constant reassurance.
“Beautiful. So beautiful. Perfect. Mine.”
And gradually, Kirstie began to believe it. Began to feel it. The way he touched her residual limb—not with hesitation or revulsion, but with the same desire he showed the rest of her body—broke something open inside her.
She was desirable. Not despite her injuries. Not in spite of what she’d lost. Just ... desirable. As she was. Whole in the ways that mattered.
When they finally came together, Kirstie felt something she hadn’t felt since before the crash—complete. Not because she had all her body parts. Not because the prosthetic made her “normal.” But because she was loved. Fully known and fully loved.
Afterward, lying in Brett’s arms, her residual limb exposed and unashamed, Kirstie felt tears leak from her eyes again.
“What’s wrong?” Brett asked, concerned.
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.” She looked up at him. “For the first time since the crash, I feel like a whole woman. Not a patient, not a survivor, not an amputee. Just a woman. Your wife. Loved and desired and ... whole.”
Brett pulled her closer, kissed her temple. “You’ve always been whole, Kirstie. You just needed someone to see it. I’m honored to be that someone.”
“I love you. So much.”
“I love you too. Every scarred, stubborn, beautiful part of you.”
They lay together in the darkness, skin to skin, scars visible, prosthetic abandoned on the floor, and Kirstie felt something shift fundamentally inside her.
She’d spent five years rebuilding her body, her mobility, her independence. But tonight, she’d rebuilt something else entirely.
Her sense of self as a woman. As a sexual being. As someone worthy of desire and love and passion.
Ben had looked at her with pity and walked away. Brett looked at her with love and stayed. That made all the difference.
She was whole. Not despite her losses, but beyond them.
And that was the greatest gift anyone had ever given her.
Three Months Later - The News
Kirstie stared at the pregnancy test, her hands shaking. Two pink lines. Positive.
She was pregnant.
Joy and terror warred in her chest. They’d talked about having children, had decided they were ready, but talking about it and seeing the actual positive test were very different things.
Could she do this? Could her body handle pregnancy? Could she parent effectively with a prosthetic leg? What if something went wrong?
Brett found her sitting on the bathroom floor, test in hand, tears streaming down her face.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He sat beside her, then saw the test. “Is that—”