Page 56 of Mercy Lake

I took the out and walked alongside the lake when the sun caught on a small trinket buried in the shallows. Dropping to one knee, I submerged my hand and came out with a ring—not just any ring.

Before I could react, a gasp sounded from behind.

My head spun to find Alexis staring down at me with awe, her wedding ring gleaming between my fingers.

Without a word, I opened her hand and placed the band in the middle of her palm. Her fingers closed over the treasure immediately.

“It always belonged to you,” I said, the insinuation so much deeper than the words.

Alexis dropped to her knees before me, getting on my level. She then ran a finger along my jawline, her touch light, like she was caught in a trance.

“I love you, Owen Ivans.”

“Thorne.”

“Thorne?”

“I love you. I love Austin. I love us. I want to create a family, with you and our boy. Let me take your name, baby.”

A single tear dripped down her cheek as she gave the one confirmation that ever mattered. “Yes.”

My hands cupped her precious face when I pressed my forehead to hers. “Be mine forever?”

“Forever, Owen Thorne.”

Then, I sealed that vow with a kiss.

Forever.

Epilogue 2

ALEXIS

Six years later…

Owen and I entered the medical convention with an air of excitement. It had been months since we’d had alone time together, and we were making the most of our getaway.

Both our parents had volunteered to look after the kids. Austin was in the double digits, a surly eleven-year-old who was too cool for his parents. When that happened, I had no idea. But no matter how old he was, he was always my little boy.

I was proud of the person he was growing into. Austin had a strong sense of justice and was the best older sibling to his four-year-old brother, Adam, and two-year-old sister, Olivia—who ran court in our house.

We were still transitioning out of the terrible twos, so having a weekend away in the city with my husband was a well-needed treat. Sure, we were technically there for work, but we were excited for the exemplary line up of attendees, some presenters flying in internationally.

Owen grasped my hand as he led us through the crowd, aiming for the lecture hall on the far side of the building. Since my father’s health scare many years before, both of us had found a passion in working with stroke patients.

Hence Owen nearly pulling my arm out of its socket with how rushed he was. We didn’t want to miss a single second of the next lecture, and we were cutting it fine for time.

Slipping into the room at the last minute, we collected ourselves in the back row as the crowd quietened for the well-renowned guest speaker approaching the stage.

Although we were now seated, my heart rate continued to climb higher, my senses on high alert as if cautioning me to take heed of my surroundings.

That’s when my past came slamming into my present without preamble or remorse.

“You alright, baby?” Owen asked, picking up on my strained silence. I hadn’t noticed that my hand was still in his. Not that it would matter, as he would realise soon enough why I was nearly cutting off his circulation with my white-knuckled grip.

I tipped my chin to the front of the room, not trusting myself to speak. Owen’s eyes tracked where I signalled. Then, he went completely still.

The polished, sophisticated host mounted the stage—black hair, grey eyes, wide, welcoming grin. He was the physical personification of my son, Austin, just forty years older.

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