Chapter 7 - The Unbroken LightOne year later, on Christmas Eve night, the grand dining room of the Beacon Hill mansion was filled with warm, golden light.
The massive mahogany table was set for two—adorned with crystal glasses, silver candle holders, and fresh white winter roses placed in a crystal vase.
Maeve sat at the head of the table, wearing a breathtaking midnight-blue silk gown, her dark hair pinned up with diamond clips, her skin glowing, her hazel eyes bright with pure, unadulterated happiness.
On her left hand, catching the flickering candlelight, rested a flawless five-carat emerald-cut diamond ring—the Vale family heirloom.
I sat beside her, wearing a tailored black suit, holding a glass of vintage red wine, watching my wife laugh as she cut into a slice of warm roasted lamb.
There were no bloody ledgers on the table. There were no fear-filled phone calls from hospital beds. There were no shadows lingering in the corners of our home.
"Do you remember where we were at 11:40 last year, Callum?" Maeve asked softly, setting her fork down, looking at me with gentle, loving eyes.
I smiled—a real, radiant smile that lit up my sharp features—and reached across the linen tablecloth to gently take her hand into mine.
"I remember answering my private phone," I murmured, bringing her knuckles to my lips, kissing the gold band on her ring finger. "And hearing the voice of the woman who was about to change my entire life."
Maeve leaned across the table, pressing her forehead against mine, her breath warm and sweet against my skin.
"Merry Christmas, Callum," she whispered against my lips.
May you like
"Merry Christmas, my love," I swore softly under the candlelight.
Outside the high bay windows, the snow fell softly over the streets of Boston, coating the stone walls of Beacon Hill in brilliant, white armor—protecting the sanctuary we had built together, unbroken, forever.
