Page 170 of When Hearts Surrender

A thousand kisses to represent a tiny fraction of the love I feel for her.

Clasping her face in my hands, I seal my mouth over hers, my heart burgeoning and doubling in size.

Perhaps our bodies are transient in this world, but a soul is eternal, each lifetime leaving an indelible imprint behind, a familiar verse we’ve forgotten, but the feelings they evoke are permanent. That’s why we roam this earth looking for the other half of our souls, seeking a connection that has been written in the grains of time.

We break apart for air and I tuck an errant lock of hair that has blown in front of her face.

Her lips curve into a bright teary smile, as beautiful as the golden sunlight breaking through the thick clouds behind us.

“I’m home,” she whispers, moisture glinting in her eyes. “I love you, Maxwell Angus Silas Anderson.”

“And I love you, Annabelle Charlotte Law-McKenzie Anderson,” I reply. “This lifetime and all the lifetimes thereafter.”

At the edge of my sight line, at the ground level where the rose garden lies, in the patch of soil where no life has ever taken root—a mark of the cursed land—the tender shoots of a new rose bush pierce the ground, their fragile green stems whispering of hope and new beginnings.

The locket is reunited with its owner, two lost souls reunited, and I am finally whole.

Finally home.

Epilogue

Six Months Later

“Thank y-you for coming tonight. The newly inaugurated Anderson Depression and Anxiety Research Center will greatly benefit from the proceeds of the sales this evening.” Maxwell clears his throat and nods to the crowd gathered at a chic gallery in SoHo. It’s not The Met, but I know he has no interest in being at such a high-profile place. This smaller setting is perfect for him.

His face is flushed, and I can hear the hitch in his breath as he standsin frontof the stage.

Not on top of it, because he didn’t want the spotlight shining on him.

He’s drawn boundaries for himself, and I’m so proud of him for that.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes sweep the room until they land on me. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “M-May there be a day when the stigma of mental health conditions can be eradicated because we all deserve good health…both inside…” he points to his temple, “and outside.”

Giving the crowd a terse nod, applause rings in the air as he hands the microphone over to an attendant. He then strides over, all tethered power and masculinity in his three-piece dark navy suit—a McKenzie’screation, of course—his hair artfully swept up, carefully groomed stubble on his chiseled jawline.

Pride swells in my chest, joining the undercurrent of excitement.I can’t wait to tell him the news.

Heat sweeps through me as I watch my very handsome husband walking toward me, a lightness in his steps despite just having given a closing speech to the guests of his first-ever art show since he was in high school. I told him he didn’t need to give a speech, that I could take care of it for him, but he said he wanted to.

“I’m a winner,” he murmurs, his dark eyes glinting in our bedroom a week ago. “I’m not hiding behind my anxiety anymore.”

I smile and touch his cheek. “You’re a winner either way. Because you’re battling your inner demons each day with bravery. On the good days, and the bad.”

His voice hitches and his nostrils flare. “You’re right. I’m the biggest winner in life already…because I have you by my side.”

My chest warms at the memory as he reaches me, his comforting scent wafting to my nose. The guests are filtering out of the gallery as planned. When I finalized the schedule last week, I didn’t want him to feel pressured to socialize for the entire night. Therefore, I slotted his speech as the closing remarks, so he could appear at the end of the evening on his own terms.

“I’m so proud of you.” I loop my arms around his neck. “You did so well up there.”

“Dr. Lin helped a lot.” He’s been seeing her weekly and diligently taking his medicine to help control his panic attacks. It hasn’t been smooth sailing, but he’s been so much happier.

It also helps that ever since we discovered Silas’s journal and read Emma’s parting words…words about sacrifice, much like what Maxwell did when he came in between the bullet and me, there have been no more strange accidents. The rose garden is in full bloom, including the patch of soil that grew nothing before. Maxwell was right. The curse, if there was one, has been broken.

Now, when I step in between the beautiful bushes and smell the lush scent of the flowers, I no longer feel sad. Instead, I feel a bone-deep peace and contentment. The estate also feels brighter, like all the missing parts have slid into place.

“All the pieces are sold. They love your work. A smart CEO and a brilliant artist. How did I get so lucky?” I gesture at the colorful canvases hung on the walls, all marked with orange stickers to indicate a sale.

He grins, his smile wolfishly handsome. Fleur’s stock has rebounded and is higher than ever. The public is singing praises at how he has become a champion of mental health awareness.

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