“Anton asked if he could come by this morning,” Grandma says. “Said he had something important to discuss.”
“With me?” I look back at Anton. “Or with you?”
“With her,” Anton says quietly. “First.”
My heart is pounding. “Anton—”
“Let him speak, honey,” Ruth says softly.
Anton moves to stand in front of Grandma. And then—
He kneels.
Gets down on one knee in my grandmother’s kitchen.
My breath stops.
“Grandma… Morgan.” Anton says, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. “I’m here to ask for your granddaughter’s hand in marriage.”
The room goes silent.
I can’t breathe. Can’t function. Can’t process what’s happening.
“I know I’m not what you would have chosen for her,” Anton continues. “I’m a killer. I come from a world that’s dark and dangerous. I can’t promise Mary a normal life or a safe one.”
Grandma’s watching him. Silent. Listening.
“But I can promise that I will love her. Protect her. Put her and our child above everything else in this world.” His hands are clasped in front of him. Formal. Respectful. “She makes me want to be more than what I was. Better than what I thought I could be. And I’m asking—respectfully—for your blessing to make her my wife.”
Tears blur my vision.
Grandma looks at him. Then at me. Then back at him.
“Are you asking permission?” she says slowly. “Or telling me you’ve already decided?”
“Asking.” Anton’s voice is firm. “Because she deserves to have someone who respects where she comes from. Even if I’m not worthy of her.”
“You’re right. You’re not worthy of her.” Grandma’s voice is matter-of-fact. “No man would be. But she chose you anyway. And I’ve watched her become someone I barely recognize; someone stronger, braver, more alive. So yes. You have my blessing.”
Anton’s shoulders relax slightly.
“But,” Grandma leans forward, “if you ever make her regret choosing you, I know people. People who know where to hide bodies.”
Anton’s mouth curves. “I believe you.”
“Good.” Grandma nods once. “Now stand up and ask her properly.”
He stands. Turns to me.
And I’m crying. Full-on sobbing in my grandmother’s kitchen surrounded by everyone I love.
“Mary,” Anton says.
I can’t speak. Can only stare at him through tears.
He crosses to me. Takes both my hands. And kneels again.
This time, in front of me.
