Chapter 6 - The Rose GardenThree months later, the spring sun shone brightly over the oceanfront estate in Miami.
The cold, clinical atmosphere that had hung over the property since Claire's death was completely gone, replaced by a warm, vibrant sanctuary filled with blooming white roses, yellow sunflowers, and the peaceful sound of ocean waves splashing against the seawall.
Down on the green lawn near the terrace, three-year-old Noah was running hysterically in his barefoot sandals, chasing a golden retriever puppy across the grass, his clear, sweet laughter echoing across the estate.
I sat on the wide stone patio in a comfortable linen shirt, sipping a cold glass of iced tea, watching my son play.
The heavy glass doors of the terrace swung open.
Grace walked out into the warm sunlight.
She wore a beautiful, flowing pale yellow dress that caught the ocean breeze, her dark hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. The crimson shadow on her cheek was long gone, her skin radiant, her hazel eyes bright with deep, unshakeable peace and happiness.
Under her arm, she carried a small wooden picture frame she had just finished painting in the sunroom.
She walked up beside my chair, leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss against my cheek before setting the frame on the iron table.
"What did you paint today, sweetheart?" I asked, wrapping my arm gently around her waist, pulling her flush against my side.
Grace turned the frame toward me.
It was a delicate watercolor painting of our kitchen—showing Noah standing on her bare feet while I stumbled through a ridiculous dance step under the golden under-cabinet lights.
Across the bottom, written in neat, elegant gold script, were the words: Home is where we dance.
I looked at the painting, then up into Grace's hazel eyes—eyes that held no lingering fear, no shadows of the past, but a deep, eternal love that filled every corner of my soul.
"I love it, Grace," I whispered, pulling her down into my lap, wrapping both arms around her, burying my face in the soft warmth of her neck.
"I love you, Dante," Grace murmured against my skin, her hands resting over my chest, listening to the steady, peaceful beat of my heart.
May you like
Down on the grass, Noah looked up toward the patio, his small hands holding his puppy, shouting at the top of his lungs: "Mama Grace! Daddy! Look! The puppy caught the ball!"
Grace let out a soft, radiant laugh that echoed across the sunlit lawn. She took my hand in hers, interlace her fingers with mine, and together we stood up to walk down the stone steps toward our son.
