We ride a bit further, find a place to tether our horses so we can fully enjoy the sunset. Cole pulls me into his arms, kissing me slower this time, and when he finally pulls back, he wraps his arms around me and turns us both toward the horizon.
I settle against his chest, his chin resting on top of my head, our bodies fitting together like they were built to do this. Built to find each other at the end of hard days. Built to sit in moments like this—quiet, steady, safe.
The sky blurs into deeper colors, and Cole’s thumb strokes my shoulder absentmindedly, like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. Like touching me is instinct now.
And that’s when the thought hits me. I want to be better for him. Not perfect, fixed overnight, or pretending anymore.
Better.
I want to work on the parts of me I’ve buried under a smile for years—the hurt I never dealt with, guilt I carried like a second skin, and fear that I’m too much or not enough. The girl who swallowed everything and carried everyone, except herself.
I want to be someone who knows how to let him love her without flinching. Someone steady enough to match the steadiness he gives so freely. Someone healed enough to stop waiting for the good things in her life to disappear.
I’ll get help, go to therapy so that my heart can catch up to how safe he makes it feel. But more than anything, I want a future with him that isn’t weighed down by the past I never unpacked.
Cole tightens his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod against him, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah. I… I’m really okay.”
He doesn’t ask for more, doesn’t push, just holds me like that’s enough.
The sun dips lower, the last of the light brushing the river below, the trees and the two of us. And in that moment, wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I make a promise silently to myself:
I’m going to get better. Not because he needs me to, but because I want to be the best version of myself… for him, for us, for the life we’re building together.
Cole sighs softly, content, completely unaware of the quiet vow forming inside me. I slip my hand into his, weaving our fingers together.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful. Not just about him, but about me.
30
COLE
I wake up before the sun. Not because of nerves, though I have plenty of those pulsing through my veins, but because Aria climbs onto my chest at five in the morning and whispers, “Daddy, it’s your wedding day!”
I open my eyes to find her kneeling on the bed, curls wild, wearing her flower-girl robe that reads “Princess of the Day” across the back.
A stretch pulls at my ribs, the last of my bruises still lingering, but I don’t mind. It’s a good kind of ache—the kind that reminds me we survived, we healed, and today… we get to start new.
“You excited?” I ask her, voice rough.
It’s obvious. The wedding is not for another twelve hours, but she looks ready—more than ready.
She nods so hard her curls bounce. “I’m gonna throw petals. Daisy and I practiced. And Miss Ella said no eating them because they’re not snacks, even if they look like snacks.”
I laugh, pull her down, kiss her forehead. “Good rule.”
She beams. Then her face softens into something small and sincere. “Daddy… I’m glad you found her.”
My throat tightens. “Me too, sweetheart.”
She hugs my neck so tight I have to close my eyes. She doesn’t need to say it, but I feel it anyway—after everything she’s been through, after losing the home she thought she had, after being scared of love turning to chaos… she finally feels safe.
Ella did that. Ella saved both of us.
She climbs down and sprints out of the room, yelling for breakfast, leaving the sheets twisted around my legs and the morning way too loud for how early it is.
