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I nod, still smiling through my tears. “Maybe I’ll write a memoir someday. Use that as the title.”

“I’d read it,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “But your story’s not over yet.”

“No,” I whisper, watching Eric chase another butterfly through the orchard, his curls bouncing in the sunlight. I feel the soft flutter of movement in my belly—our daughter. I glance down at the ring on my finger. The lemon pendant. The broad-shouldered man at my side.

“It’s just beginning.”

Above us, the lemon tree’s branches sway to the rhythm of the breeze, scattering golden light across our skin. The sun dips toward the horizon, turning the sky rose and gold and endless.

Once, I thought happiness was something reserved for other people. People with mothers who stayed, and fathers who called, and childhoods that didn’t leave scars. But Sean’s arm is solid around me. Eric’s laughter fills the air. And the butterfly my son set free dances upward on the wind.

Free. Happy.

Just like me.