She unwrapped it carefully, grinning when she saw the pale pink cover with her name embossed in gold: Margot Prescott.
“Open it,” Mia urged, sitting beside her.
Margot opened to the first page and drew in a sharp breath.
Baby photos. Margot as an infant in Vance’s arms, both of them in Paris. Her first birthday. Toddler Margot with a gap-toothed grin. Christmas mornings. A trip to the beach. Sitting on Grandma Irene’s lap wearing overalls.
“Papa,” she breathed. “You saved all of these.”
“Every single one,” he said, his voice thick.
Then blank pages. Several of them. “That’s where we’ll put your paintings and drawings,” Vance said.
Margot traced her fingers over the empty spaces, nodding.
Then new pages. Recent months.
Margot on the beach with Mia, both of them laughing. Making cookies in the kitchen, flour on their noses. Family dinner at the table, all four of us. The first day of fourth grade. Margot sitting on the couch with Madison, a book open on her lap.
“These are from here,” Margot said. “From my new life.”
“Yep. And there are going to be so many more,” Mia said. “Mom takes photos of everything, as I’m sure you’ve picked up on by now.”
Margot turned to a page near the end and stopped.
It was a photo of all four of us from just last week. We’d taken a walk on the beach at sunset, and I’d asked a stranger to take our photo with my phone—Vance and me behind the girls, all of us wrapped together like a beautiful package. Below it, in beautiful calligraphy, just four words:
The beginning of us.
Margot turned the page.
The next spread was blank except for a small envelope taped to the center with my name written in Vance’s handwriting.
“This one’s for you,” Margot said, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Mia. “It has your name on it.”
I took the card from her outstretched hand. It was bumpy, as if something besides a card was in it.
“Open it,” Vance said.
I did so, hands shaking. A beautiful piece of cream cardstock with a small hole at the top, where a pale pink ribbon held a diamond ring.
Vance slid off the couch, kneeling in front of me.
“Lila, I’ve already gotten the blessing from the girls. Will you marry me?”
Tears streamed down my face.
“Will you let me spend the rest of my life loving you, raising these girls, and building a beautiful life in this beautiful home?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He slipped the ring on my finger—perfect fit, of course—and kissed me.
The girls tackled us, all four of us ending up in a pile on the floor, laughing and crying and holding each other.
“We’re really a family now,” Margot said, her face pressed against my shoulder. “For real. Forever.”
“Forever,” I confirmed.
