Chapter 17
The second wedding was nothing like the first.
The first had been small. A justice of the peace. A few friends. A reception in their tiny apartment, with Claire's homemade cake and cheap champagne.
This one was bigger. But still them.
They got married in the backyard of their home, beneath the oak tree they had planted.
Claire wore a simple white dress. No veil. Just flowers in her hair.
Ethan wore a gray suit. James, William, and Michael—now eighteen months old—wore matching little suits. They were the ring bearers. Sort of.
James carried the rings on a small pillow. He walked slowly, carefully, his eyes fixed on his parents.
William tried to eat the pillow.
Michael ran off halfway down the aisle, chasing a butterfly.
Everyone laughed.
It was perfect.
Marcus was Ethan's best man. Daniel was a groomsman. Rosa—who had become like family—stood with Claire.
Robert officiated.
When he asked if anyone had any reason why they should not be married, Ethan's eyes scanned the crowd.
For a moment, he almost expected to see Margaret. Or Hale. Or some other ghost from his past.
But they were gone.
All of them.
The only faces looking back at him were faces of love and support.
Robert pronounced them husband and wife.
Ethan kissed his bride.
The boys cheered. Well, James clapped politely. William cheered. Michael tried to climb the wedding arch.
The reception that followed was everything they had wanted.
Good food. Good wine. Dancing.
Claire had baked the wedding cake herself. Three tiers. Orange-almond, of course.
Ethan looked around at the people who had become his family.
Marcus and his wife, expecting their first child.
Robert and his husband, talking quietly in the corner.
Daniel and Rosa, laughing at something Michael had done.
The trainees from the bakery, all of them now employed full-time, their lives changed forever.
Good people.
People who loved them.
Claire came up beside him, slipping her hand into his.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“I was just thinking... this is what happiness looks like.”
Claire leaned her head against his shoulder.
“We earned it.”
That night, after the guests had left, after the boys had been put to bed, Ethan carried Claire across the threshold of their bedroom.
“Again?” she laughed.
“Always.”
He laid her gently on the bed.
They held each other, skin to skin, heart to heart.
“I love you, Ethan Parker.”
“I love you, Claire Parker.”
And for the first time in a long time, Ethan slept peacefully.
No nightmares.
No ghosts.
May you like
Just the sound of his wife's breathing. The faint sound of his sons' monitors from down the hall.
The quiet certainty that he was home.
