Our lake house. The one Enrick gifted me last Christmas during the snowstorm that changed everything. The storm that forced me to stop running from what I wanted most.
It’s been exactly one year since I got “stuck” at the Hughes family mansion. A year since Enrick and I finally cleared the air about what happened when I called to tell him I was pregnant. Twelve months since I admitted I’d been punishing him as much as myself.
What a year it’s been.
January through July, Enrick kept his word about making the effort, flying from Winter Bay to Atlanta nearly every weekend. He’d arrive Friday afternoon and leave Monday morning,working remotely from my townhouse while Bella was at school. Those weekends became our most precious time, filled with lazy mornings, family movie nights, and after Bella was asleep, nights that left us both breathless and wondering how we’d survived six years apart.
In the spring, Bella had started asking why Daddy couldn’t just stay forever.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Enrick told her, winking at me over her head.
We flew to L.A. in April for Cassidy’s wedding. After the reception, Enrick suggested a walk along the beach.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange. My heels sank into the sand, so I carried them, letting the cool water lap at my feet.
Enrick was uncharacteristically quiet, distracted. When I asked what was wrong, he stopped suddenly and turned to face me.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, taking both my hands in his. “Everything’s finally right, and I can’t stand the thought of going back to what we’ve been doing.”
My heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want weekends anymore,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I want every day. I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you and fight about whose turn it is to do dishes. I want to help Bella with her school work and have family dinners and build a life with you. A real life, not this back-and-forth thing we’ve been doing.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I’ve spent six years missing pieces of you and Bella. Six years of second-guessing and regrets.” He traced circles on my palm. “I don’t want to miss a single moment more.”
“What are you saying?” I whispered, though I already knew.
He went down on one knee, right there in the wet sand, waves lapping at his expensive suit pants. He didn’t seem to notice or care as he pulled a small box from his pocket. Inside was a simple princess-cut diamond on a platinum band. Nothing ostentatious or flashy. Just perfect.
“Marry me, Desiree.” His voice cracked. “Let me be your husband. Let me come home to you every single night instead of just Fridays through Mondays.”
All the fears I’d been holding, all the what-ifs, and doubts about whether we could really build something broke open inside me. I was crying before I realized it.
“Yes,” I managed to say through the tightness in my throat.
“Yeah?” His entire face transformed.
“Yes, you idiot.” I laughed through my tears as he slid the ring onto my finger. “Of course, yes.”
He surged to his feet and lifted me off the ground, spinning me in a circle as the waves crashed around us. His mouth found mine, and I finally understood what it meant to come home to someone instead of somewhere.
By June, we’d made our decision. I would move to Winter Bay with Bella. The lake house—one of the properties Enrick had offered me last Christmas—felt like the perfect place to build our life together. Close enough to his family for regular visits, but with enough space to create our own traditions.
We also made sure Patricia Okeke was taken care of. After five years of being the bridge between Enrick and me, she confided that her broken hip had been the wake-up call she needed to return to the native Nigeria.
Enrick immediately set up a generous retirement package for her, and I helped plan her going-away celebration. Now she video calls Bella twice a week from Lagos, showing her the vibrant markets.
We enrolled Bella at her cousins’ private school, and I transitioned to full-time Winter Bay resident while keeping my remote job. By October, I’d been promoted to HR manager—the position my boss had been grooming me for when she encouraged me to take those night classes. The transition was smoother than I expected, professionally and personally.
We ran into Margot at the Winter Bay farmer’s market one sweltering August day. I tensed, wondering what her attitude would be, but she greeted us warmly, congratulating us on our engagement.
“I’m moving to Atlanta in a month,” she told us. “Got offered a creative director position at a company there.”
An awkward pause followed before I heard myself say, “My old place in Atlanta is available for rent, actually.”
I still don’t know what possessed me to offer. Maybe the happiness in her eyes when she looked at Bella. Maybe the way she’d made peace with Enrick’s choice.
