Nate Waller
“Night, Rosie,” Hannah calls out as they walk the other way down the sidewalk. And I can’t help but love that everyone calls her Rosie now.
I tug my wife into my side and press a kiss to her head. “I’m so proud of you.”
She sighs. “I’m proud of all of us.”
I hum in agreement.
Rosalyn’s Restaurant, the actual restaurant, has been open for one year. And it hasn’t just survived, it’s thrived.
Presley is the head chef. Chelsea is on track to have whatever job she wants—if she wants it. And Rosie has found a reliable staff for the catering side of the business.
She did it all.
I was just here to stand at her side. Supporting her. Showing her she mattered. Showing her she was loved.
And loving Rosie is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
Our steps slow as we reach our vehicle.
My wife tips her head back to look up at me. “Take me home, Husband.”