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Tonight, something feels different.

I stand in front of the mirror, brushing the soft fabric of my dress down my sides, unsure why my hands are trembling. It’s not nerves—at least not the kind I recognize. It’s something quieter. Deeper. I apply a touch of gloss to my lips and recheck my reflection. Simple. Clean. Intentional. I’m not dressing for show tonight. I’m dressing for something real.

Stefano doesn’t say much as we leave the estate, but I can feel it in the way he watches me, in how he opens the car door, as though this moment is more than just an evening drive. There’s a weight to the silence between us as we head toward the city’s edges, and it hums with anticipation.

When the car slows, the familiar buildings come into view. Tired, graffiti-marked, close-packed. But not threatening. Not to me.

I’ve walked these steps before, listened to the creak of the third stair, breathed in the scent of old floorboards and lemon cleaner. But tonight, as Stafano unlocks the faded blue door of apartment 3C, I feel the air change.

The lights are dim, soft. Candles flicker along the narrow ledge of the window. Fresh flowers—daisies, I think—sit in a mismatched glass jar on the kitchen counter. And in the center of it all, beneath a small halo of candlelight, is a diamond ring.

My breath catches.

Stefano doesn't speak. He just closes the door behind us and watches me absorb it all. It’s quiet, except for the soft hum of the city below us, muffled by years of paint and memory.

“You did this?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods once. His eyes don’t leave mine. “I needed to come back here. With you.”

I turn to him, and he takes my hands in his.

“I could’ve taken you anywhere tonight,” he says. “A rooftop. A five-star hotel. But none of those places matter. Not the way this place does.”

The air stills.

Stefano lowers himself to one knee, and I freeze.

For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. The room fades, the walls dissolve, and it’s just him—this man who carries both heaven and hell in his hands—kneeling in the only place he ever felt safe.

He picks up the velvet box. The ring is delicate, timeless, understated—exactly what I would’ve chosen, had I ever let myself dream this far.

“This place gave me life,” he says quietly. “But you gave me something greater. You gave me a reason to live it. To fight for something more. For someone. For you.”

I drop to my knees without thinking, cupping his face in my palms. “Yes,” I whisper, before he can even ask. “A thousand times, yes.”

His forehead rests against mine. I can feel his breath shake. I can feel my own tears spilling.

He slides the ring onto my finger with steady hands, then presses a kiss there, like sealing a vow.

“This was my mother’s ring,” he says gruffly. “The only physical item I have left of her. It was for her grandmother, and then her mother wore it before her.”

The significance of the moment hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only did Stefano bring me to his childhood home to propose, but he also gave me his mother’s ring. A family heirloom that links him to generations long gone.

“I will forever cherish it. And hopefully, we will pass it down to our daughter someday.” I say as a single joyful tear trails down my cheek.

His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away my tears, as if he can erase every moment of pain we’ve carried to get here. His eyes hold mine—steady, fierce, and yet so heartbreakingly soft—and in them, I see everything: the man he is, the man he’s fought to become, and the man who is mine now, in every possible way.

When his lips meet mine, it’s not rushed. It’s not wild. It’s reverent.

Slow and searching, like he’s learning me all over again. Like he’s memorizing this exact moment to hold onto forever.

His fingers slide into my hair, anchoring me as his mouth moves over mine with exquisite patience, deepening the kiss until it feels like the only thing keeping me standing. My hands clutch his jacket, pulling him closer, needing him closer, and he lets out a breathless sound that’s part groan, part surrender.

There’s no one else here. No garden. No world.

Just us—bound by a promise we’ve both bled for, sealed with the kind of kiss that says: you are my home.

And when we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathless, his voice rough with emotion as he whispers, “Forever starts now.”