She stops when we’re toe to toe.
"What’s that?"
I pop the lid.
Emerald center. Snowflake diamonds on either side. No frills. Just meaning.
She inhales softly.
"It’s beautiful," she whispers.
"You and that little girl—you’re mine. And I’m done hiding from it."
Her gaze flicks up to mine. Eyes glistening.
"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going," I add. "I needed to get my head straight. Figure out how to carry this without dropping it. Without droppingyou."
Her lip trembles. "I didn’t think you’d come back."
I close the box. Slide it into my back pocket.
Then I step up onto the porch. Crowd her against the railing.
"Too late. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere."
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
So I press in.
"Stay with me. No mail-order bride bullshit, I want you. I can’t picture my life without you in it.”
Her breath catches. "You don’t fight fair."
"Never claimed to. Say it, Holly. Say you’ll stay."
Her voice breaks. "Yes. I’ll stay.”
Then I kiss her like I’ve been starving since the day she left—and she kisses me like she’s been drowning without me.
Because maybe we have been.
But we’re home now.
And we’re not going anywhere.
The box is heavier than I remember.
Buried under flannel shirts I haven’t worn in years, pushed to the far back of the closet like I thought ignoring it would erase the weight of what’s inside.
But tonight, I can’t ignore it anymore.
The house is quiet. Holly put Josie to bed an hour ago. There’s a fire going in the main room, low and slow, casting amber light across the floors I laid plank by damn plank. It smells like pine and home and something sweeter—her lotion, maybe. Or maybe just her.
I carry the box to the living room and set it down by the fire.
She looks up from the couch, barefoot in leggings and one of my old thermal shirts that swallows her frame. Her hair’s down, her cheeks still a little pink from the cold outside. She looks soft. Content.
Until she sees the box.
