15. Cara
— ? —
Cara
One Year Later
I wake to the sound of Damien singing in the shower. Off-key. Loud. Happy.
“You’d think,” I call toward the bathroom, “that after a year, you’d have learned to carry a tune.”
Damien appears in the doorway. Shirtless. Grinning. That same grin that made my stomach flip the first time I saw it.
“You love my singing.”
“I love you. I tolerate the singing.”
He keeps singing anyway. I listen. It’s awful.
I don’t care.
***
Marcus is in another state now.
After his arrest, after the plea deal, after the permanent restraining order - he finally accepted that there was nothing left for him here. Last I heard, he’s working at a smaller hospital somewhere in the Midwest. Starting over.
Part of me hopes he changes. Learns something from all of this. Becomes a better person.
A bigger part of me doesn’t care what he does, as long as he does it far away from me.
Amanda reached out once. A short email, a few months after everything ended.
I’m sorry. For all of it. I was stupid and desperate and I let myself believe what I wanted to believe instead of what was true. I’m keeping the baby. Her name is going to be Sophie. I hope you’re happy.
I didn’t respond. But I didn’t delete it either.
Sometimes I think about her - alone, raising a child, dealing with the fallout of loving the wrong person. I don’t feel sorry for her, exactly. But I don’t hate her anymore either.
We were both victims. We both survived.
That has to count for something.
***
We keep it small.
A rooftop garden at sunset. String lights and wildflowers and the people who actually matter.
Rachel is my maid of honor. She cries through the whole ceremony and denies it afterward.
Lily stands as Damien’s witness, grinning like she’s been waiting for this her whole life.
Rosalind - grandmother Rosalind - sits in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Even Damien’s mother comes. She sits in the back, uncertain and tentative, but she came. That means something.
We write our own vows.
“I promise to stay,” I say, my voice steady despite the tears on my cheeks. “Even when it’s hard. Even when you sing off-key. Even when the world tries to tear us apart.”
“I promise to see you,” Damien replies. “The real you. Not the version you think you should be. I promise to love you in the light and in the dark.”
“I promise to sing off-key every morning for the rest of our lives.”
“I promise to listen anyway.”
We kiss. Everyone cheers.
And I think: This. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This is what I was looking for all along.
***
Later, at the reception, Rosalind pulls me aside.
“You’re glowing,” she says. “Both of you.”
“It’s the string lights.”
“It’s not the lights, dear.” She winks. “When are you due?”
I freeze. “How did you-”
“I’ve had six children. I know the glow.” She pats my stomach gently. “How far along?”
“Eight weeks.” I found out last week. Haven’t told anyone. Not even Damien. “I was waiting for the right moment.”
“I’d say your wedding day qualifies.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right.
I find Damien by the makeshift bar, laughing at something Lily said. I touch his elbow.
“Can I steal you for a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
I lead him to a quiet corner of the rooftop. Away from the music and the laughter. The city lights spread out below us like a promise.
“What’s wrong?” Concern creases his forehead. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I take his hand. Place it flat against my stomach. “I just have a wedding present for you.”
He stares at me. At his hand on my belly. I watch him put it together.
“You’re-we’re-”
“Eight weeks.”
“We’re having a baby?”
“We’re having a baby.”
His face cycles through shock, disbelief, and then-
Joy. Pure, blinding joy.
He drops to his knees. Right there in his wedding suit. Presses his forehead to my stomach.
“Hi,” he whispers. “I’m your dad. I can’t wait to meet you.”
I run my fingers through his hair. Feel the tears sliding down my cheeks.
“I love you,” I say.
He looks up. His eyes are wet too.
“I love you both.” He rises. Pulls me into his arms. “All three of us. We’re a family now.”
“Yeah.” I hold him tight. “We are.”
***
One year ago, I stood in a doorway wearing lingerie, waiting for a man who couldn’t be bothered to look at me.
I thought I was worthless. Broken. Not enough.
I thought love meant accepting crumbs and calling it a feast.
I was wrong.
Love is Damien singing off-key every morning because he knows I’ll listen anyway. It’s his hand on my back when I’m scared, his voice in my ear when I doubt myself. It’s the way he looks at me - really looks - like I’m the most important person in any room.
Love is choosing each other, every day, even when it’s hard.
Even when the world tries to tear you apart.
I spent five years loving a man who never deserved me. I thought that was my story.
I was wrong about that too.
Some things have to burn before something better can grow.
***
Later that night, on the dance floor, Damien pulls me close.
“Can you believe this is our life now?” he asks.
“Sometimes.” I trace the tattoo on his chest - the phoenix, visible through his unbuttoned collar. “Sometimes I wake up and I’m still surprised.”
“Good surprised or bad surprised?”
“The best surprised.” I kiss his shoulder. “I never thought I could have this. Be this happy.”
“Me neither.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being brave enough to burn it all down.” He meets my eyes. “For giving both of us a chance to start over.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That’s not true. You were already fighting when I showed up. I just gave you some backup.”
“The best backup.” I smile against his skin. “I love you, Damien Thorne.”
“I love you too, Cara Thorne.” He pauses. “How does that sound? Cara Thorne?”
“Like a new beginning.”
“The best kind.”
He kisses me. Soft and sure and full of promise.
Outside, the city sleeps. Inside, our future grows.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of what comes next.
THE END