Page 127 of Once Upon A Second Chance

The wind picks up slightly, tugging at the edge of the blanket. I anchor it with my hand and stay very still, heart suddenly beating faster than I’d like.

“I’ve been thinking about what it means to show up for someone,” he says quietly. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just when it feels good. But when it’s quiet. When it’s hard. When there’s grief between you and forgiveness doesn’t come all at once.”

His gaze drops to my hands, folded in my lap. “I left before,” he says. “I broke something. And you let me come back. You didn’t have to. But you did.”

“Richard—” I start, but he shakes his head gently.

“Let me say this.”

I nod.

He shifts, pulling something from the picnic basket. A small box — not flashy, not polished. Just simple wood, smooth at the corners. He holds it loosely between his fingers, not opening it yet.

“I know we had rules,” he says, voice soft. “We needed them. Back then, they were the scaffolding we built so we didn’t collapse. So we could figure out who we were again, together.”

He looks up, and this time I see the shine in his eyes. It undoes something in my chest.

“But I broke one,” he says, a small, wry smile tugging at his mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again— too fast. I wanted too much. I started planning a future before I asked if it was okay to want one.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. My throat is tight and my hands feel useless, and all I can do islisten.

“So I’m sorry,” he says. “For breaking the rule. But I’m not sorry for what I want.”

And then he opensthe box.

Inside is a ring — not flashy or traditional, but perfect.

The simple solitaire diamond catches the light with quiet brilliance, its elegant clarity reflecting the pure, uncomplicated love we’ve found again in each other.

Richard takes a slow breath, his voice quieter now.

“I want to wake up next to you in every version of this life. I want to raise this baby with you — in chaos and joy and whatever the hell else comes our way. I want to be yours, completely and permanently and without hesitation. I want to call you my wife because you’ve been my home for years now and I’m ready to give that a name.”

The world narrows to this moment.

The trees.

The fading sky.

His hands.

His voice.

“Will you marry me?” he asks.

And somewhere deep in my chest, something lets go.

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of wind threading through the trees and the echo of his words still reverberating in the space between us.

He’s still kneeling, ring in hand, but not pushing. Not pleading. Justoffering.

I stare at the ring, then up at him.

“I used to think,” I say, slowly, “that love meant losing myself.”

His expression shifts, something tightening just slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I thought if I gave too much, if I let someone too close, I’d disappear inside their orbit. And for a while, I did. After you left, it felt like I had to build a whole new version of myself just to breathe again.”