Page 126 of Shattered Promise

I lean my head back against the porch post, watching the two of them bathed in warm sunlight, and just like that, the ache in my chest softens. I feel whole in a way I didn’t know I was allowed to be.

Mason’s hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together.

This isn’t perfect.

It’s better. It’s mine.

EPILOGUE

ABBY

The back porchsmells like rosemary and grilled peaches.

The table’s packed elbow-to-elbow—folding chairs dragged in from the garage, paper napkins already unraveling across laps, laughter rolling across the yard like a warm front. Mom and Dad decided we needed more space than their dining room table currently offers, so they’re having one custom-made. But until that’s done, we’ve moved Sunday night dinners into their all season’s room.

Cora’s balancing a baby green salad in one hand and a half-finished mocktail in the other. She’s glowing, even when she rolls her eyes at Jasper. “That isnotwhat I said. Check the group chat.”

Beau lifts his beer. “Which one?”

“The sibling one,” she deadpans.

I glance over at Mason, and he nudges my foot under the table, grinning like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I’m in the sibling group chat now. Well, except for the other sibling one I’m not supposed to know about, where they’re planning a baby shower.

Graham is talking stocks with Dad, who somehow turned that into a fishing metaphor. Francesca keeps refilling my water glass like I’m not allowed to stand, ever. Vivie sneaks goldfish crackers into Theo’s palm like it’s a covert mission, and he’s very serious about not dropping any.

I reach over and adjust his bib. “You’re gonna turn into a goldfish,” I whisper, brushing a sticky curl from his temple.

“He’d still be cute though,” Mason murmurs beside me, his voice low and warm as sunbaked stone.

“Dada, up-up,” Theo says, lifting his arms and grunting in Mason’s general direction. Mason scoops him up with ease. Their foreheads touch briefly, and my chest swells.

But Theo’s not content to stay in Mason’s lap. He twists, a sturdy little acrobat in striped overalls, and plants one socked foot on Mason’s thigh. “Mum-mum,” he says, before launching himself at me.

I catch him mid-tumble, and he laughs, triumphant. I cuddle him to me, settling him right over my growing bump.

“Careful, bud,” Mason cautions, his hands hovering at Theo’s back like he’s ready to snatch him off me at the slight wince.

“He’s fine, Mase,” I murmur, smoothing Theo’s hair back a little.

“He’s getting too big to be climbing all over you like that,” Mason grumbles. His gaze has this protective gleam I’ve come to know over the last six months a little too well.

A clink of silverware draws our attention. Dad stands with a wine glass in hand, clearing his throat a few times. “If I could have everyone’s attention?—”

Beau groans. “Really, Dad? It isn’t a wedding.”

Dad ignores him. “I’d like to make a toast.”

The table quiets, everyone turning to face Dad.

Dad’s eyes find me, and then Mason, and then Theo and the curve of my belly currently hidden under a toddler and atablecloth. “To the newest addition to our family,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “And to Mason and Theo, who remind us every day that love isn’t a bloodline—it’s a choice you make, over and over. I don’t have the words for what you two mean to us. So I’ll just say—thank you, Mason. For loving my daughter.” He sniffs and swallows.

“Hey, what about me? Mason loved me first,” Beau grumbles but there’s no heat in it. It does exactly what he’d hoped for.

Dad flashes my brother a grateful smile and chuckles. “And for loving Beau, because we all know you guys were menaces at fifteen.”

Everyone around the table laughs, and Dad’s shoulders settle a little.