29. Danica
— ? —
Danica
“Where are we going?”
Stefan just smiled, that infuriating smile that meant he had a secret and enjoyed watching me try to figure it out.
“You’ll see.”
“Stefan.”
“Trust me.”
“The last time you said ‘trust me,’ I ended up at a county fair eating questionable corn dogs.”
“And you loved it.”
“That’s not the point.”
He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. A blindfold. Black silk, expensive-looking, like everything he owned.
“Absolutely not.”
“Please?”
“I’m not letting you blindfold me in a car.”
“It’s a short drive. I promise.”
“How short?”
“Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.”
“Stefan.”
“Dani.” He caught my hand, kissed my knuckles. “Please. This is important to me.”
I looked at his face. At the hope in his eyes, the barely contained excitement. This wasn’t a joke or a game. This was something real.
“Fine.” I took the blindfold. “But if you drive me to a second county fair, I want a refund on this marriage.”
“Noted.”
I put on the blindfold, and the world went dark.
Stefan drove in circles. I could tell because I kept track of the turns, left, right, right again, another left, and none of them made sense. He was deliberately disorienting me, which meant wherever we were going, he really wanted it to be a surprise.
“Are you taking me somewhere to murder me?”
“Yes, obviously. That’s why I asked you to remarry me first. For the insurance money.”
“You’d have to kill Nico too. He’d know.”
“Damn. Foiled again.”
After what felt like forever, the car stopped.
“Keep the blindfold on,” Stefan said. I heard his door open and close, then mine opening. He helped me out, keeping one hand on my elbow to guide me.
Gravel crunched under my feet. I could smell something floral, jasmine maybe, or honeysuckle. Birds chirping. The distant sound of traffic.
We walked for about thirty seconds. Then he stopped me.
“Okay.” His voice was soft. “You can look.”
I pulled off the blindfold.
And my breath caught.
We were standing in front of a house. Not a mansion. A house. Victorian style, freshly painted in cream and sage green, with a wraparound porch and flower boxes under the windows. It looked like something from a movie, warm and welcoming and full of promise.
Above the door was a sign.
ROSA’S HOUSE.
My mother’s name.
“Stefan.” My voice came out strangled. “What is this?”
“It’s a place for parents of sick kids to stay for free while their children are in the hospital.
” He stepped up beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“Close enough to walk over at 3 a.m. Close enough to be there for every moment. No one sleeping in their car. No one choosing between a hotel room and groceries.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
“I bought it the week you left,” he continued. “I’ve been working on it ever since. Renovations, staffing, partnerships with the hospital. It opens next month.”
I looked at the house. At my mother’s name above the door.
“You named it after my mom.”
“She wrote me a letter telling me not to blow it.” His voice was rough. “I blew it. This is how I start fixing it.”
The tears came then. Not delicate, pretty tears. Ugly crying, the kind that makes your whole body shake and your nose run and your makeup completely irrelevant.
Stefan pulled me into his arms and held me while I sobbed.
“She would have loved this,” I managed between gasps. “She would have… she spent three nights sleeping in a hospital waiting room when I had my tonsils out. She couldn’t afford anything else. If something like this had existed…”
“That’s why I built it,” he said, stroking my hair. “For every Rosa out there. For every parent who would do anything for their kid but can’t afford a place to sleep.”
I pulled back, wiping my face with my hands. “Can I see inside?”
“It’s yours. You can see whatever you want.”
We walked through the house together. Bedrooms with actual beds, a common kitchen, a playroom for siblings, a quiet room for when everything got too overwhelming. Every detail had been thought through, every comfort considered.
“How did you know all this?” I asked, running my hand over the quilt on one of the beds. “What parents need, what kids need?”
“I asked. The families at the hospital. The ones who’ve been through it.” He shrugged. “Turns out, when you actually listen to people, they tell you what matters.”
I looked at him. At this man who had spent weeks building a house for strangers while his own house sat empty, waiting for me to come home.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too.”
We stood there for a long moment, surrounded by everything he’d built.
“One more question,” Stefan said.
“What?”
“Where’s your passport?”
I blinked at the sudden shift. “My passport? It’s at the beach house, I think. Why?”
He just smiled.
“Why?” I repeated.
“Pack a bag. We leave tomorrow.”
“Leave for where?”
But he was already walking toward the door, still smiling, refusing to answer.
“Stefan! Where are we going?”
He paused in the doorway, looked back at me with that infuriating, wonderful grin.
“You’ll see.”