Page 29 of This Is Our Forever

We turn to face the officiant, but all I can focus on is her—Amelia, the love of my life, the woman I never want to lose again.

Before I know it, we’re exchanging rings, simple gold bands that feel like promises made tangible. And then those magical words: “You may kiss the bride.”

***

The reception is a joyous celebration. Tables laden with food are scattered across the lawn and laughter and music fill the air. Dylan, now in comfortable clothes, bounces between guests, intent on sampling every cupcake from the tower in the center.

Amelia and I find a moment and sit beneath the twinkling lights as the sun sets. She leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder, and I hold her close, savoring the peace.

“I have a surprise for you,” she murmurs and presses a small gold-wrapped box into my hand.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s this?”

“Open it and see.”

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a delicate silver rattle. For a moment, I just stare, confused. Then it hits me, and my gaze snaps to her face.

“Are you…?”

She nods, her smile trembling. “I’m pregnant.”

A wave of joy rushes over me, and I pull her into my arms, spinning her around in pure delight. Her laughter rings out, catching the attention of everyone around us.

“We’re having a baby!” I announce, my excitement contagious as our friends and family cheer.

Dylan runs over, his face smeared with frosting. “What’s happening?”

Amelia crouches down and pulls him close. “You’re going to be a big brother, sweetheart.”

His eyes grow wide. “There’s a baby in your tummy?”

Amelia nods, her smile radiant. “That’s right.”

“Can we name it Optimus Prime?”

Laughter ripples through the crowd and I kiss Dylan’s head, my heart overflowing with love for this incredible life we’ve built.

As the stars twinkle overhead, I look around—my beautiful wife, our son, so full of wonder.

This is everything I ever dreamed of—and more.

EPILOGUE AMELIA

Christmas lights sparkle through the frosted windowpanes of our living room. A gentle snow falls outside, blanketing our suburban Boston neighborhood in a pristine white. I stand by the bay window, cradling Samuel against my chest, his tiny fingers curled around a lock of my hair. His warmth seeps through the soft fabric of my sweater, a reminder of the miracles that have graced our lives.

Our sprawling Colonial home, with its wraparound porch and gabled roof, feels alive with the spirit of the season. Garlands of fresh pine and holly adorn the staircase, their crisp scent mingling with the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla wafting from the kitchen. It’s larger than I’d wanted—six bedrooms seemed excessive at first—but Nathan had grinned and said we could work on filling every room. Now, with three children and the pitter-patter of little feet echoing through the halls, I’m grateful for the space.

“What’s on your mind, love?” Nathan says as he approaches, mindful of the sleeping baby in my arms.

I can tell he’s just finished the bedtime routine with our older children because his hair is mussed. I smile and watch him. “Just thinking about how quickly Christmas is approaching. There’s still so much to do.”

“We’ll manage.” He slips an arm around my waist. “Sharon’s offered to help, and it’s just family. You know it wouldn’t be a proper Grant gathering without a little chaos.”

Laughter bubbles up as memories of past Christmases flash through my mind. “True. Remember when Dylan toppled your parents’ tree with that remote-control car?”

He chuckles and kisses my temple. “Or Seraphina’s first Christmas, when she was more interested in the wrapping paper than the actual gifts.”

We share the moment, his warmth steadying me. “I just want everything to be special,” I murmur. “It’s our first Christmas here, and with Samuel…”

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