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I nodded. “Does this make you a believer?”
“It makes me a believer of us.”
“Forever a realist.”
“Not so much anymore.”
“Why is that?”
He cupped my face and brushed his lips against mine. “Because I married my miracle.”
I laid in bed gazing at the twinkling galaxy outside of our skylight window thinking of the narrow roads that brought us back together. Sometimes what’s meant to be isn’t written in the stars, instead, it’s a journey on the path less traveled without a map of guidance, without certainty. Though Ian didn’t fully admit it, I was sure he had to believe that every battle we fought in our separate lives—good or bad—led us to that beach, to a glimpse of the life we could share together, and that was enough for us. That brief blip in time was all we needed to decide on the life we wanted. In that moment, I was grudgingly thankful for a body that wouldn’t cooperate and a mind that ran in circles, and I knew without a doubt my husband was grateful for the trials that led him to me because, without them, our stars wouldn’t have finally aligned. Our lives would’ve turned out differently, and for me, that would have been the real tragedy. In finding each other, we also discovered the why of our journey.
Ian tenderly kissed my stomach while I whispered a prayer of thanks to the stars above with renewed faith.
Not all love stories come with happy endings, but some do.
THE END
