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I followed her over, her name on my lips like a benediction.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers combing through her hair. The house was quiet except for our breathing gradually returning to normal.

“So,” she said eventually, tracing patterns on my chest. “Think that worked?”

“If not, I’m more than willing to keep trying.” I felt her smile against my skin. “Repeatedly. Enthusiastically. Multiple times a day if necessary.”

“My hero.” She yawned, curling closer. “Sacrificing for the cause.”

“Someone’s got to do it.”

She pinched my side, making me laugh. Then she grew serious, propping herself up to look at me.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For the mind-blowing sex? You’re welcome.”

“Lachlan.” But she was smiling. “For this life. For believing in second chances. For seeing who I could be instead of who I was.”

I pulled her up for a kiss. “You were always her. You just needed space to become her.”

“And you gave me that.” She settled back against my chest. “You and the twins and this whole beautiful, messy life. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s real.”

“Believe it.” I pulled the covers over us, already feeling sleep tugging at me. “This is just the beginning.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

As she drifted off to sleep, I thought about everything we’d built from the ashes of our broken beginnings. A family. A home. A program that saved lives. A love that had survived betrayal and bloomed into something unshakable.

And maybe, if tonight had worked its magic, another little miracle to add to our chaos.

The alarms would go off too early. The twins would bounce into our room demanding pancakes. Life would continue in all its beautiful, exhausting glory.

But right now, holding my wife in our bed, in our home, surrounded by the life we’d built together—right now was perfect.

Happy anniversary to us.

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