“This is your grandchild,” I say. “And I’m gonna do this right. I swear to protect them. I’ll protect them with everything I’ve got.”
We sit there for a while—just the three of us, and the memory of three more. The air is quiet except for the rustle of wind through the trees and the distant sound of birds settling in for the night. The cemetery is bathed in golden light, the sun beginning its slow descent behind the California hills, casting long shadows across the grass.
Maya curls into my side, her little hand slipping into mine. Analyse leans her head on my shoulder, the curve of her body fitting perfectly against me, like we were always meant to end up here—like everything before this, the heartache, the fear, the waiting, was just a winding road that led us to this peace.
I glance down at the headstones, and for the first time in years, the weight in my chest isn’t unbearable. It’s still there, but it’s quieter now. Softer. I feel them here. I feel their love in the breeze, their presence in the way the sunlight catches Maya’s hair, in the way Analyse squeezes my hand without needing to say a word.
We stay there until the sky turns lavender and the stars start to peek through. Until the chill of the night nudges us back to the car. But even as we walk away, I don’t feel like I’m leaving them behind.
They’re with me—in every breath, every heartbeat, every step forward. And as I look at my wife, my daughter, and the tiny flicker of life we’ve yet to meet, I know onething for sure. This is home. This is forever. This is the happiest ending I never saw coming.
The End.
