Chapter 10
The wedding was small.
Just us.
The boys.
A few close friends who had stood by us through everything.
Carter was there.
The judge who had brought me back to life was there.
It was in our backyard.
The same backyard where Liam had taken his first steps.
Where Noah had learned to ride his tricycle.
Where Andrew and I had sat on the porch, three years before the fire, and talked about growing old together.
The weather was perfect.
Warm but not hot.
A gentle breeze.
The boys were the ring bearers.
Well, Liam was the ring bearer.
Noah was the "security guard," as he called it.
He wore a tiny suit and carried a plastic flashlight, and he insisted on checking everyone's "credentials" before they could enter the yard.
It was perfect.
When I walked down the aisle—really just a path through the garden—Andrew was waiting for me.
He was crying.
I was crying.
The boys were grinning from ear to ear.
The ceremony was short.
We didn't need a lot of words.
We had already said everything that mattered.
We had already lived through the worst.
Now we were choosing the best.
"I do," Andrew said.
His voice was clear.
Certain.
"I do," I said.
And I meant it with every fiber of my being.
He kissed me.
The boys cheered.
Our friends clapped.
And somewhere, far away, Vivian was in a prison cell.
Marcus was in a prison cell.
They had lost.
We had won.
The reception was simple.
Barbecue.
Potato salad.
Lemonade.
The boys ran around the yard with the other kids.
Andrew and I sat at a table under the oak tree, watching them.
He had his arm around me.
My hand was resting on his leg.
The ring on my finger caught the sun.
"Are you happy?" he asked quietly.
I looked at him.
I thought about the fire.
About waking up alone in the hospital, thinking my family was dead.
About three years of pain and surgeries and grief.
About coming back as a maid, watching my boys from a distance, my heart breaking every single day.
About the night in the dining room, when everything changed.
About the trial.
About the judge saying, "Welcome back, Mrs. Carter."
About this moment.
My husband beside me.
My boys laughing in the yard.
The sun on my face.
Peace in my heart.
"Yes," I said. And it was the truest thing I had ever said. "I am happy. More than I ever thought possible."
Andrew kissed the top of my head.
"Good," he said. "Because you deserve it. You deserve every bit of happiness in the world."
Later that night, after everyone had left, after the boys had fallen asleep in their beds, exhausted from the excitement, Andrew and I went up to our room.
Our room.
Not Vivian's room.
Not the room of a ghost.
Ours.
We stood at the window, looking out at the backyard.
The moon was full.
The stars were bright.
"I was thinking," Andrew said. "Maybe we should sell this house. Start fresh. Somewhere new. Somewhere with no bad memories."
I thought about it.
This house held so much pain.
The fire.
Vivian's lies.
Three years of absence.
But it also held so much good.
Liam's first steps.
Noah's first word.
Our wedding night.
Countless mornings drinking coffee together at the kitchen table.
And now, today.
Our second wedding.
The boys laughing.
Joy.
So much joy.
"No," I said. I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I don't want to sell. This is our home. We built it. We loved here. And yes, bad things happened here. But good things happened here too. And today, we added more good. More love. This house is ours. And I want to stay."
Andrew squeezed me tighter.
"Okay," he said. "We stay."
We stood there for a long time.
Just watching the moon.
Just being together.
"Do you ever think about her?" Andrew asked quietly. "Vivian?"
I thought about it.
"Sometimes," I admitted. "But not in the way you think. I don't hate her. Not anymore. I just feel sorry for her. She spent her whole life wanting what other people had, and now she has nothing. Forty years in prison. No friends. No family. Nothing."
I paused.
"But I don't lose sleep over it," I said. "She made her choices. She has to live with them. And I have to live with mine. And I choose to be happy. I choose to love you. I choose to love my boys. I choose life."
Andrew turned me to face him.
He looked into my eyes.
"I love you, Elena Carter," he said. "More than words can say."
"I love you too, Andrew Carter," I said. "More than anything."
He kissed me.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
A kiss of hello.
A kiss of goodbye to the past.
A kiss of forever.
Somewhere in the house, Noah made a small sound in his sleep.
We both smiled.
Our family.
Whole again.
Scarred.
Stronger.
Loved.
And for the first time in three years, I knew with absolute certainty.
I was safe.
May you like
I was home.
And nothing would ever take that away from me again.
