Chapter 37 #2
I laughed, choking on my own breath. “I know, buddy. I missed you too.”
And that’s when I saw it.
A velvet box hanging from the ribbon around his neck, nestled just against his chest.
My breath caught.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze—and Dean was already stepping forward. Already lowering himself onto one knee, eyes locked on mine with a softness that stole every inch of air from my lungs.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, my chest tightening, breath hitching like I couldn’t quite get enough air.
Dean reached forward and untied the ribbon from George’s neck, his fingers shaking—subtly but unmistakably—as he slipped the velvet box free. He didn’t look away, not even for a heartbeat.
Then he opened the lid, revealing a princess cut stone, and a band encrusted with small glittering diamonds. His voice dropped to something soft, but incredibly vulnerable. “Something I never pictured myself doing,” he whispered. “Not until I met you.”
Then he removed the ring from its housing and took a deep breath.
“When I hired you,” he began, “I told myself I was digging myself out of the mess I created. One night. Something simple to shut everyone up.”
He gave a small shake of his head. His eyes lifted when someone grunted with disbelief behind him.
“But after I met you,” he continued, “I convinced myself that I needed more. Needed you to come to the lodge to solidify the lie… For us to spend more time together to snuff out any lingering doubts. But the truth was… the person I was lying to most was myself.” He swallowed—the muscles in his throat working.
“The night I met you, I couldn’t look away.
You were… God, Em, you were stunning. Not in the kind of way that makes a man stare—though I did—but in the kind of way that hits you like a punch in the stomach.
And then I got to know the woman underneath—the one who still shows up with kindness and fight after everything she’s lived through…
That’s when I knew I wasn’t walking away easily. ”
He lifted the ring between his fingers, as though steadying himself with the motion.
“I tried to fight it. God knows I did. The timing was wrong, everything was falling apart, and I had no business wanting someone as good as you. But every single day… I fell more in love with you.”
His voice cracked—a sound so raw it split something inside me wide open.
“I know this is crazy. We’ve only known each other a couple of months. But what feels even crazier is imagining one more day without you.”
He swallowed hard, eyes never leaving mine.
“Emily Garland…” His voice dropped low, rough but steady, as though he was offering every unguarded piece of himself.
“I’ve had enough loss in my life. And I know you have too.
We’re the same that way—we protect our hearts so hard they end up bruised from the inside out.
” He let out a shaky breath. “But I don’t want to live like that anymore. ”
He shifted closer and took my hand in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he was steadying himself.
“I want you. And as terrifying as it is to say it out loud, the thought of you never knowing the truth is unbearable. So here I am—laying my whole heart on the line in front of every person who matters to me.” His voice broke. “I love you, Em.”
The words hit me like a breath I’d been holding for years finally releasing.
“I want a life with you. Not a perfect one—a real one. I want the mornings, the arguments, the stupid inside jokes, the quiet nights…”
He paused, searching my face as though committing it to memory.
“I want you—exactly as you are. Your past, but most importantly your future.”
His breath shuddered. “Will you do me the honor of letting me love you for the rest of my life? Will you marry me?” He said it like a vow, like a prayer, like a man who was finally ready to stop running.
My chest cracked open. Because there was only one truth left inside me, and it was clawing its way out.
“I love you too,” I whispered.
His eyes slammed shut for a second—just once, just long enough for me to feel the weight of what those words did to him. His family gasped behind him. Someone choked on a sob. George pressed closer to my leg like he could feel the electricity sparking off my skin.
I reached for Dean’s face with trembling hands. “I love you,” I said again, stronger this time, because it felt like a miracle to finally be allowed to say it out loud.
“Yes,” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “Yes—a thousand times, yes. I’ll marry you.”
For one suspended heartbeat, the entire world went silent.
Then everything exploded.
Confetti burst into the air, party poppers cracked, someone screamed, “SHE SAID YES!” and laughter and cheering rolled over us like a wave. But none of it touched me.
Because all I saw—all I felt—was him.
Dean slipped the ring onto my finger, then surged up from the ground, pulling me into his arms with a sound that was half laugh, half sob. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath hot and uneven.
And with his family cheering, with George wagging in frantic circles, with my heart beating so hard it hurt, he whispered—
“It’s real this time.”
A laugh burst out of me—broken, disbelieving—and dissolved into a sob. I grabbed his face and kissed him. Slow and reverent, giving him every part of myself I’d kept locked away for too damned long.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His forehead stayed pressed to mine, his breath warm on my mouth, his thumb brushing softly across my cheek like he needed the reminder I was real. Here. With him. Choosing him.
I closed my eyes and let it all crash over me—every heartbeat, every breath, every impossible, unbelievable second. For so long, I’d only been surviving. But here I was… wrapped up in the arms of the man who knew every sharp edge inside me and loved me anyway.
The world seemed to soften in his arms, and my heart finally—finally—exhaled.
There was no more pretending.
This wasn't a stand-in for a life that belonged to someone else.
This was real.
This time…I was chosen.
And for the first time in my life, the future didn’t feel like something I had to be afraid of any longer—it felt like something I wanted to run toward.
Something to build.
Something to hold.
I opened my eyes, taking in all the beautiful people cheering around us, and felt something soft settle into my bones.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
I never would be again.
Wounds don’t vanish. But maybe that’s the quiet miracle.
They linger, they ache, they whisper reminders of the life we’ve endured. But they also teach us who we are—resilient, tender, brave enough to try again.
Someone capable of being seen—truly seen—and loved anyway.
Not in spite of the things we carry, but because of them.
Our scars may help tell the story, but they don’t decide our future.
Not if we don’t let them.