I didn’t know how long we sat there, but in that time, I silently poured my soul out to that little marker in the grass. As I sobbed, Garrett held me, never letting go, as I made peace with my demons. I forgave myself for the mistakes I’d made and the regrets I’d refused to let go of. I felt my heart purge, letting go of the darkness that had settled there. I felt lighter and blessedly free.
Finally, through my grieving, I said good-bye to the child I would never know and the life I would never have. I would never know the joy of giving birth to my own child. I’d never experience the exhilaration of finding out I was carrying Garrett’s child again. This was my new reality, but one thing hadn’t changed—the man by my side.
He was still next to me—holding me, loving me, and supporting me no matter what life might hold—and that made all the difference in the world.
With one final glance at Hope’s marker, I kissed my fingers and placed them next to her name.
“I love you,” I whispered. “Until then…”
Turning to Garrett, I smiled and said, “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
~Garrett~
I managed to turn the doorknob and push the front door open with my foot, balancing the bags of groceries in my arms, as I tried not to be mauled over by a very exuberant Sam. He jumped and danced at my arrival, and I bent down, jostling the bags, and gave him a quick pat on the head. The smell of something burning hit my nose, and I quickly rose to follow the smell.
“Mia? Are you burning something?” I called as I rounded the corner into our newly remodeled kitchen.
Long gone were the dated appliances and lackluster cabinets. Now, the kitchen was larger, bright, and functional. We’d spent months picking out new tiles for the backsplash, installing upgraded appliances, and laying down new flooring. It had been many days and nights of hard work, but it was our dream, and it was exactly what we had needed in our journey of healing.
Smoke billowed out of the oven as Mia halfheartedly tried to wave it away with a towel.
“No, it’s already burned. It’s dead. I killed it,” she answered in defeat.
Chuckling softly, I placed the bags down on the counter and turned toward her, pulling her apron-clad body into my arms. She looked adorable in her frilly pink apron, especially since I knew she couldn’t cook worth shit.
“Why didn’t you wait until I got home?” I asked, feeling her huff in frustration.
“Because I wanted to help with the cooking. It’s our housewarming party—which I still don’t quite understand by the way. You’ve been living here for three months. Why are we all of a sudden having everyone over for a party?”
I couldn’t help but grin. It was down right adorable that the thought of having my entire family over still definitely made her palms sweat. They’d all welcomed her into the family with open arms, but she would still get nervous every time Clare or my mother came over, worrying that she’d mess up and look bad. I didn’t know how to explain to her that they were in love with her just as much as I was.
Mia sighed, looking at her baking catastrophe on top of the oven, as she bit into her top lip with worry. I wished I had spared her the pain and just explained why it was necessary to have a housewarming party three months after she’d made me the happiest man alive when she asked me to move in with her. She’d handed me a key the day we visited Hope’s memorial for the first time, but I couldn’t tell her the reason, not yet.
“What’s this?” I asked.
I took the shiny keychain with a single key dangling on it from her outstretched hand as we wandered back down the winding pathway to the car. I stopped, turning it over it my hand, as my fingers ran over its satiny finish. On one side, our initials were engraved, intertwining together like long-lost lovers, and on the other side were two single words that stole the very air from my lungs—Welcome Home.
I’d cleared out my apartment the following day, not wanting to waste another minute of my life in the cramped, lifeless hellhole. Mia was my life, and the first time I’d walked into the front door of our house, knowing I was truly coming home, I’d finally found happiness.
We’d spent the last three months living in this house and making it our home—together. Remodeling the kitchen had just been the beginning. We’d finished painting, picked out every piece of furniture together, and spent hours hanging old and new photos on the walls. The ultrasound Mia couldn’t seem to let go of was now hanging on our wall in its own frame as a reminder of the little girl who would be waiting for us when our time on this earth was done. We might be moving forward, but it didn’t mean we had to forget our past.
In the last three months, we’d healed old wounds and made new memories. With the renovations almost completed, we’d managed to host Thanksgiving, and everything had gone off without a hitch, mostly because I’d kept Mia as far away from the food preparation as possible. When Christmas morning came, I’d surprised her with breakfast in bed, and we’d opened presents under our own tree, celebrating our very first holiday together in our new life.
Holding her in my arms now, I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot as I remembered her absolute joy that morning. We’d already come so far. I reached down and patted the pocket of my jeans for the hundredth time that day.
Yep, still there.
I looked up, and Mia was staring at me as if waiting for an answer.
Did she ask me a question? Oh right, the party.
“What? Oh, well, we just finished remodeling the kitchen, and all of the furniture is in here finally. It’s time to invite everyone over and have a housewarming party. You know, formally,” I answered quickly, hoping she’d let it go and not ask any more questions.
She gave me a longer than normal stare, her eyes searching my face, and I tried to play innocent. It must have worked because she turned toward the counter and began pulling out some of the things she’d sent me to the store to retrieve.
“Okay, but when they all die because of food poisoning, I’m telling the cops it was your fault.”
“Deal.” I laughed. “I’ll gladly go to the slammer for you, baby.”
“You better.”
I tossed the charred black mounds that resembled rolls from the cookie sheet into the trash and set the sheet in the sink to soak. Pulling out fresh ingredients, I popped open another can of rolls and placed them on a clean cookie sheet.
How someone could royally screw up something as simple as rolls was beyond me, but she’d managed to succeed every time she attempted. It was a good thing I didn’t mind being in the kitchen. I had a feeling I’d be the head chef in our little family for the foreseeable future.