Page 129 of This Beautiful Lie
Because all I saw—all I felt—washim.
Dean slipped the ring onto my finger, then surged up from the ground, pulling me into his arms with a sound that was half laugh, half sob. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath hot and uneven.
And with his family cheering, with George wagging in frantic circles, with my heart beating so hard it hurt, he whispered?—
“It’s real this time.”
A laugh burst out of me—broken, disbelieving—and dissolved into a sob. I grabbed his face and kissed him. Slow and reverent, giving him every part of myself I’d kept locked away for toodamnedlong.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His forehead stayed pressed to mine, his breath warm on my mouth, his thumb brushing softly across my cheek like he needed the reminder I was real. Here. With him. Choosing him.
I closed my eyes and let it all crash over me—every heartbeat, every breath, every impossible, unbelievable second. For so long, I’d only been surviving. But here I was… wrapped up in the arms of the man who knew every sharp edge inside me and loved me anyway.
The world seemed to soften in his arms, and my heart finally—finally—exhaled.
There was no more pretending.
This wasn't a stand-in for a life that belonged to someone else.
This was real.
This time…I was chosen.
And for the first time in my life, the future didn’t feel like something I had to be afraid of any longer—it felt like something I wanted to run toward.
Something to build.
Something to hold.
I opened my eyes, taking in all the beautiful people cheering around us, and felt something soft settle into my bones.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
I never would be again.
Wounds don’t vanish. But maybe that’s the quiet miracle.
They linger, they ache, they whisper reminders of the life we’ve endured. But they also teach us who we are—resilient, tender, brave enough to try again.
Someone capable of being seen—truly seen—and loved anyway.
Not in spite of the things we carry, but because of them.
Our scars may help tell the story, but they don’t decide our future.
Not if we don’t let them.
Epilogue
One yearlater
The drive up to the lodge looked different this year. The trees were just as tall, the lake just as glassy, but everything shimmered softer—as though the whole world had been washed clean just for us.
Dean parked the Jeep in the same gravel lot as before, the tires crunching to a stop in front of the main lodge. When he turned off the ignition, his hand immediately came to rest over mine.
“You good?” he asked, eyes flicking from my face to the gentle curve of my growing belly.
I smiled, exhausted but happy. “Just fine. As long as someone gets me out of this car before I melt.”
