Epilogue
Zoe
The candles are lit again on the patio, the same spot, the same glass hurricane shields keeping the flames steady against the evening breeze. This time I am not counting the minutes on my phone.
I hear the car in the driveway a full twenty minutes before it is needed, the way Chris always used to be, once, before I let myself forget that version of him existed at all.
He comes around the side of the house instead of through the front, still in his work clothes, tie loosened, a bottle of the same Cabernet Sauvignon from a night twenty-three years ago tucked under his arm.
"You're early," I say, not bothering to hide the smile.
"I've had a lot of practice lately." He sets the bottle on the table and leans down to press a kiss to my temple before taking the seat across from me. "How was your day?"
I tell him about the client meeting, the new contract, the small, ordinary things that used to feel like static he wasn't listening to and now feel like something he actually wants to know. He asks a follow-up question. He remembers a detail I mentioned last week without me having to repeat it.
Sarai's name does not come up. It rarely does anymore; not because we are avoiding it, but because there is genuinely less to say.
Greta mentioned last month that she is doing better, settled into her own place near the coast, seeing someone twice a week who is not Chris.
Julius spends most holidays with us now, folded easily into family gatherings the way any nephew would be, no longer a silent proof of anything.
Chris pours the wine, hands me a glass, and sits back to watch the candlelight flicker across the pool.
"Twenty-three years," he says quietly, half to himself.
"Twenty-three years," I agree.
"I keep thinking about that promise I made you. The first one." He turns his glass slowly by the stem, not quite looking at me. "You'll always come first. I broke that for a long time, Zoe. Longer than I like admitting to myself."
"I know."
"I will try my best to put you first, Zoe. I will be intentional from now on." He finally meets my eyes, his fingers steady against the glass stem.
"Oh, you bet you will," I say, a small smirk breaking through my serious expression.
"I know that too," I add, my voice softening.
"And I'm adding something to it this time.
" He sets his glass down, his voice steadier now.
"I promise to tell you everything. Not just the easy parts.
Secrets, guilt, whatever I am ashamed of, you get all of it, even the parts I want to bury.
I do not get to decide anymore what you are strong enough to hear. "
I do not trust my voice enough to answer that right away, so I just nod.
He stands and rounds the table to kneel in front of my chair.
His hands find the strap of my heel, unbuckling it slowly, the way he once did on our wedding night, except this time there is no playfulness in it; just care.
He slides the shoe off, then the other, and presses a slow kiss to the arch of my foot, the same place he kissed twenty-three years ago in a different room, a different life.
"I got you something," he says, reaching into his jacket.
He opens his palm to reveal a ring, simpler than the one already on my finger, and holds it steady between us.
"I broke the promise I made you the first time," he says, looking up at me.
"So I am not asking you to just forgive it and move on like nothing happened.
I am asking you to let me make it again, properly, with everything I know now that I didn't know then.
Zoe Walters, will you renew your vows with me? "
I look down at him, at the man kneeling barefoot at my feet with a ring in his open hand and twenty-three years of both wreckage and repair between us, and I do not need a single second to answer.
"Yes."
He rises from the stone tiles, his eyes locked onto mine as he slides the new ring onto my finger. His hands move to slide up the sides of my neck, his thumbs anchoring over my pulse points, tilting my face upward. The warm scent of the wine hangs in the space between us.
He leans down, closing the distance, and captures my lips with his.
The kiss is deep, slow, and heavy with everything we have rebuilt over the past months.
I wind my arms around his shoulders, pulling his frame closer against mine, letting the heat of his mouth sweep away the remaining ghosts of our past.