Flowers covered the yard.
The trees were green again.
I sat in a rocking chair on the porch with my one-month-old daughter sleeping against my chest.
Her name was Maya.
She had Marcus’s dark hair and the same bright eyes that had first made me fall in love with him.
The driveway was peaceful now.
No shouting.
No military convoy.
No relatives fighting over property.
Just birds, wind, and the quiet little house Marcus had spent years building.
Then an old sedan stopped near the curb.
My father stepped out.
Harrison looked completely different.
His hair had turned gray.
His shoulders were slumped.
His clothes no longer carried the expensive confidence he once valued so much.
He walked slowly toward the porch.
“Genevieve.”
I remained seated.
“Harrison.”
He swallowed.
“Your mother and I had to sell the estate. We’re living in a small apartment now. Victoria moved back in after everything that happened with Raymond.”
“I know.”
He stared at Maya.
“We made a terrible mistake.”
I said nothing.
“We were grieving too,” he continued. “We weren’t thinking clearly.”
A quiet laugh escaped me.
“You were thinking perfectly clearly.”
His eyes dropped.
