“I do,” I said. “I need to hear him say it.”
I accepted the call.
“Hannah?” Mark’s voice was a ghost of its former arrogance. It sounded thin, broken.
“What do you want, Mark?”
“I… I wanted to apologize,” he rasped. “I know it doesn’t mean anything now. But I’m looking at ten to fifteen years. Claire left me the second the money ran dry. She testified against me for a reduced sentence.”
“Poetic justice,” I said coldly.
“I just… I wanted you to know,” he stammered. “I did love you, in the beginning. Before the greed took over. I really did.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the final tether snap. “No, Mark. You loved how easy I was to fool. You loved the safety I provided. You don’t know what love is.”
“Hannah…”
“Goodbye, Mark. Don’t call here again.”
I hung up the phone. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy; it was peaceful.
I turned to Ben, who was watching me with concern.
“Is it over?” he asked.
I walked over to him, taking his rough hands in mine. “Yes. It’s finally over.”
Ben smiled, reaching into his pocket. “Good. Because I’ve been carrying this around for a month, waiting for the dust to settle.”
He dropped to one knee right there in the middle of my living room. He pulled out a simple, elegant ring.
“Hannah Miller, I promise never to lie to you. I promise to build a life with you, not off of you. Will you marry me?”
Tears streamed down my face—not the hot tears of the airport, but cool, cleansing tears of joy.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”
Five years later.
The winter wind whipped off Lake Michigan, but inside our home, it was warm.
I sat on the rug, watching my three-year-old daughter, Clara, stack building blocks. She had Ben’s eyes and my determination.
“Higher, Mama!” she squealed.
“Careful, or it’ll topple,” I laughed, helping her steady the tower.
