I kissed her again, and this time, when we’d broken apart, I saw something in her eyes that had been missing for weeks. Hope. Joy. The absolute certainty that we were making the right choice.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
“Now we go upstairs and I will show you exactly how much I love my fiancée.”
“Fiancée.” She tested the word, smiling. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good. Because you’re going to be hearing it a lot.”
We made love that night with the desperate tenderness of people who nearly lost each other, who learned that tomorrow was never guaranteed but decided to plan for it anyway. And afterward, lying in my bed with her head on my chest and her engagement ring a promise I would fulfill as soon as the jewelry stores opened, I realized that everything I built—the company, the reputation, the carefully constructed life—was worth it for this moment.
For her.
One year later, we stood in the chapel where Jude was baptized as a child, exchanging vows in front of the small group of people who mattered most to both of us.
But the most important presence was the one we felt but couldn’t see—Jude, whose letter permitted us to stop being afraid of happiness.
“I wish he were here,” Willa whispered as we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
“He is here,” I replied, spinning her around the small dance floor. “Every time you choose love over fear, every time you decide that happiness is worth the risk, he is here.”
“Do you think he’ll approve?”
“I think he’ll be insufferably smug about being right.” She laughed, bright and joyful, completely free.
“He would, wouldn’t he? Probably want to give a toast about how he saw this coming all along.”
“He’d want to embarrass us both with stories about how obvious we were.”
“And then he threatened to hurt you if you ever made me unhappy.”
Eighteen months after Blackstone walked away and we rebuilt from the ground up, an unexpected opportunity emerged: Paladin Global Security, the largest private military contractor in North America, wanted to acquire Cross Security’s civilian operations expertise. The merger created the most comprehensive security firm in the Western Hemisphere—government contracts, corporate protection, and crisis management under one umbrella.
But more importantly, we’d learned to work as genuine partners—not just in business, but in everything. Willa became our chief strategic officer, her marketing genius finally being put to use in ways that honored her intelligence instead of just managing her recovery.
The woman who once felt like she didn’t belong in my world transformed it, making it warmer, more human, more focused on actually protecting people instead of just accumulating power.
A year after our wedding, she surprised me with news that made my heart stop and restart.
“I’m pregnant,” she said over breakfast, her face glowing with nervous excitement.
“Are you sure?”
“Triple-checked. Doctor’s appointment confirmed. Are you happy?”
I was across the kitchen and lifted her off her feet before she finished asking the question, spinning her around our kitchen while she laughed and told me to be careful.
“I’m terrified,” I admitted when I finally set her down. “And ecstatic. And already planning how to baby-proof this entire building.”
“I’m terrified too,” she said, her hands on my face. “But I think … I think that’s okay. We can be terrified together.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because we’ve survived everything else. Because we know how to take care of each other. Because this baby is going to be so loved by so many people that he or she won’t know what to do with it all.”
Then she heaved a sigh and gave me a painful smile. “I just wish Jude was here.”
“Me too.” I pulled her closer. “But our baby will know him. Through every story we tell, every value he taught us. He’ll be part of this family, always.”
