Chapter 18
Lucas
Months past, we got engaged in the kitchen, the one place neither of us had ever slammed a door or made an accusation we couldn’t take back.
Grace was asleep, her breathing amplified by the baby monitor on the counter.
Bella wore her hair up in a knot, no makeup, old sweatshirt from my alma mater.
I had just finished washing the last glass when I turned and found her watching me, half-smiling, like she was waiting for me to trip and spill something.
I dried my hands, walked over, and said, “Will you marry me?”
She blinked. “That’s it? No speech?”
“I don’t have one,” I said. “I can’t promise I’ll never fuck up again, but I can promise I’ll never hide from it. Or from you.”
She laughed, and then she kissed me.
“Yes,” she said, then, “But—”
“There’s always a but,” I said.
She pulled me close. “We’re doing it different this time. Counseling. Protected time. No phones at the table, ever.”
“Agreed.”
“We put each other first, even when it’s not convenient.”
“Deal.”
“And if you ever feel lost or scared, you tell me. Don’t pretend.”
I nodded, then rested my forehead against hers.
“I’ll try. Every day.”
She squeezed my hand. “Then let’s do it.”
The wedding was small, just family and a few close friends, in the hospital garden where we’d first tried to forgive each other.
Christian was best man, Grace the flower girl, and Olivia performed the ceremony because she’d gotten ordained online for the occasion.
William stood with the other Ashfords, softer than I remembered him, maybe even proud.
The vows were simple. I promised to tell the truth, even when it hurt, and to show up for the hard parts, not just the ones that looked good in photos. Bella promised to be patient, to call me on my bullshit, and to let me hold her hand when she wanted to run away.
We exchanged rings. Hers was the same as before, but it meant something different now.
Afterward, we ate cake on the grass, Grace licking frosting off her fingers and smearing it on her new dress. Bella and I watched her, arms around each other, and for a long time we didn’t need to say anything at all.
Later, as the sun set, I found myself alone with Christian, standing off to the side, Scotch in hand.
“You did good,” he said.
“I almost lost everything,” I replied.
He shrugged. “Almost doesn’t count, unless you never try again.”
I thought about that.
Bella called for me, voice clear and certain.
I went to her, and this time, I knew what it meant to stay.
That night, after we put Grace to bed, Bella lay with her head on my chest, counting my heartbeats.
“You’re not scared anymore,” she said.
“I am,” I replied. “But I’m not alone.”
She traced the scar on my wrist—the one from when I tried to fix a toy for Grace and cut myself on the plastic.
“That’s all I ever wanted,” she said.
I kissed her hair, and we lay there, ordinary and safe, the promises kept in small, everyday ways.
I thought about the ring, the hospital garden, the years we’d spent learning how to love like adults.
This was not a fairy tale.
But it was ours.
And I would choose it, every time.