Chapter 7 - The HorizonTwo years later, the autumn air in Maine was crisp, smelling of wet pine, woodsmoke, and the salty spray of the Atlantic Ocean.
The sprawling stone estate sat on a private cliff overlooking the rocky coast, surrounded by towering maples dressed in brilliant shades of amber and crimson. There were no paparazzi here. No corporate boardrooms, no society gossip columns, and no ghosts from Manhattan.
On the wide wooden back deck, two-year-old Maya was running barefoot across the grass, chasing a golden retriever puppy while her delighted shrieks echoed across the lawn.
I sat at a rustic teak table, sipping a cup of hot coffee while reviewing architectural blueprints for the local children’s literacy foundation I had recently founded.
Footsteps approached from behind, and a familiar pair of strong, comforting arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me back against a warm chest.
“You’re working too hard,” Dominic murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck.
“I’m just reviewing the final layout for the community center,” I smiled, leaning back into his embrace and resting my hands over his arms. “The ribbon-cutting ceremony is next Tuesday.”
“And you’ll be the guest of honor,” Dominic said softly, turning me in his arms so I was facing him. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement and deep, unending affection. “Though I have to warn you, our daughter has already decided that she’s going to wear her princess boots to the ribbon-cutting, and no amount of legal reasoning from her father is going to change her mind.”
I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck. “She gets her stubbornness honestly.”
Down on the lawn, Maya paused her chase with the puppy, looked up at us, and waved frantically with both hands, shouting, “Mommy! Daddy! Come play!”
Dominic looked down at me, a slow, breathtaking smile breaking across his face—the kind of smile only I ever got to see.
“She’s calling us,” he whispered.
May you like
“Let’s go,” I answered.
We walked out across the grass together, hand in hand, stepping into a future that was entirely our own—far away from the cold marble steps of St. Bartholomew’s, and light-years away from anyone who had ever doubted what we could build from the ashes.
