His expression softened. “I know.”
He kissed my forehead, and I let it go.
I let a lot of things go—vague answers about past relationships, his lack of family, his childhood.
After four months, he proposed over dinner at a restaurant. I looked at him—the man who had gently stepped into the life I had rebuilt from grief and routine—and I said yes.
For the first time in years, I believed I could have everything.
My job. My daughter. A good man. A second chance that didn’t feel like a betrayal of the life I had lost.
The engagement party was small. A few friends, some family, and food spread across every surface in the house.
I was in the kitchen cutting fruit when Diana ran in, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
“Mom!”
I smiled. “Hey, what is it?”
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