Then I looked at my husband.
“No,” I said. “Leave them open.”
He smiled and wrapped his arms around me.
I rested my head against his chest.
We had been accused of having an affair before we had ever shared a kiss.
We had been forced to defend ourselves against a story that someone else had invented.
And somewhere along the way, we had discovered that our feelings were real enough to survive the fear, the anger, and the uncertainty.
Our love had not made every choice easy, and it had not erased the pain we had caused or experienced.
But we had finally stopped letting other people write our story.
Caleb kissed my forehead.
“Happy, Mrs. Rowan?”
I smiled.
“Very.”
He took my hand and led me toward the kitchen, where the moving boxes were stacked so high that we could barely see the refrigerator.
We still had arguments ahead of us. We would make mistakes, apologize, and learn how to build a marriage one ordinary day at a time.
