Updated Feb 23, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Rory
Saturday.
2pm.
I arrive at the park early.
Sit on a bench overlooking the pond.
This park was ours.
We used to come here every Sunday morning.
Coffee and pastries. Walking the trails. Planning our future.
Before everything fell apart.
Dominic arrives at exactly 2pm.
He’s carrying something. A folder.
“Hi,” he says nervously.
“Hi.”
“Thanks for meeting me.”
“Yeah.”
He sits. Leaves space between us.
We watch the ducks for a moment.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Better. Therapy helps.”
“I’m glad. I’ve been in therapy too.”
“I know. You mentioned it in your letters.”
“I read them all. Like fifty times each.”
Silence.
“I brought something,” he says, holding up the folder. “Can I show you?”
“Okay.”
He opens it.
Inside: documents. Photos. Letters.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Proof. That I choose you. That I’ve always chosen you. That I’m sorry.”
He pulls out the first document.
“This is the finalized divorce decree. From Celeste. It was expedited. Finished two months ago. I’m legally not married to her anymore.”
I take it. Read it.
Official court seal. Both signatures. Done.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
He pulls out another paper.
“This is a deed. For the house. I’m selling it.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it’s full of ghosts. Of Celeste. Of the months we all lived there in misery. Of everything that went wrong. I can’t ask you to live there. I don’t want to live there.”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know yet. But wherever it is, I want it to be a place we choose together. If you’ll give me another chance.”
My throat tights.
He continues pulling out papers.
“This is an application. For adoption.”
“Adoption?”
“I know we lost the baby. And I know that was devastating. But when you’re ready—if you’re ever ready—I want us to build a family. However that looks. Biological. Adopted. Whatever you want. But I want it with you.”
Tears are forming.
He pulls out photos next.
“These are from my therapy sessions. My therapist does art therapy sometimes. These are drawings I’ve done. Processing the guilt. The grief. The fear.”
I look at them.
Rough sketches of two women. Celeste and me.
Him in the middle, torn.
Other drawings showing chains breaking. Cages opening.
Freedom.
“I’ve been working on letting go of the guilt,” he explains. “Of accepting that Celeste’s accident wasn’t my fault. That moving on wasn’t betrayal. That I’m allowed to be happy.”
“And have you? Let go?”
“Mostly. Some days are harder than others. But I’m trying.”
He pulls out one more thing.
A letter.
“This is from Celeste. She wrote to me after the divorce was finalized.”
“I don’t need to read that—”
“Please. Just the last part.”
I take it. Read where he’s pointing.
…I hope you find happiness with Rory. Real happiness. Not guilt-driven obligation or fear-based indecision. But actual, genuine, choose-her-every-day happiness. She deserves that. So do you. Don’t waste it.
Celeste
I hand it back.
“She’s right,” Dominic says. “You deserve someone who chooses you every day. Not someone who waffles. Or doubts. Or sits on the fence.”
“And you think you can be that person?”
“I know I can. Because I already am. I’ve chosen you every day for the last three months. Even when you wouldn’t talk to me. Even when you pushed me away. I chose you.”
“That’s not—”
“Let me finish. Please.”
I nod.
He takes a breath.
“I love you, Rory. Not because of convenience. Not because Celeste is gone and you’re what’s left. But because you’re YOU. Because you’re kind and patient and funny and talented. Because you make me want to be better. Because when I imagine my future, all I see is you.”
He’s crying now.
So am I.
“I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I know the kiss was unforgivable. And I know saying sorry doesn’t fix any of it. But I’m asking—begging—for one more chance. To prove that I’ve changed. That I’ll choose you. Every single day. For the rest of our lives.”
“Dominic—”
“I’m not done.”
He reaches into his pocket.
Pulls out a small box.
Oh God.
“This isn’t your old ring,” he says, opening it. “That one represented a marriage that was built on a faulty foundation. This is a new ring. For a new start. If you’ll have me.”
It’s beautiful.
Simple. Elegant. Totally my style.
Not like the first one. This is better.
“Rory Bennett,” he says, voice shaking. “Will you give me another chance? Will you let me spend the rest of my life proving that I choose you? Will you marry me? Again. Properly. Legally. With no doubts or complications or ghosts?”
I look at the ring.
At him.
At the folder full of proof that he’s trying.
At the life we could have if I’m brave enough to take it.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“Me too.”
“What if you hurt me again?”
“I won’t. But if I do, you can leave. I won’t fight it. I won’t guilt you. You’ll be free to go.”
“What if I can’t trust you?”
“Then I’ll keep proving myself. Every day. Until you can.”
“What if—”
“Rory.” He takes my hand. “I can’t promise perfect. I can’t promise we’ll never fight or struggle or face hard things. But I can promise that I’ll choose you. Every time. No matter what.”
I look into his eyes.
And I see it.
The truth.
He means it.
Every word.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“Yes. I’ll marry you. Again.”
He laughs through his tears.
Slips the ring on my finger.
Pulls me into his arms.
And kisses me.
Soft. Gentle. Full of promise.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love you too.”
“I’m going to spend every day proving you made the right choice.”
“You better.”
We sit on that bench, holding each other, crying and laughing and healing.
And for the first time in months, I feel something I thought I’d lost forever.
Hope.
Later, we walk through the park.
Hand in hand.
“When do you want to get married?” he asks. “For real this time?”
“Soon. But small. Just us. And people we love.”
“No big wedding?”
“We did that already. This time I just want simple. Real. True.”
“I can do that.”
“And I want to move. Out of your house. Out of Priya’s. Somewhere new. Ours.”
“Already planning on it. I told you—I’m selling the house.”
“Where should we go?”
“Wherever you want. Different neighborhood. Different city. Different state. I don’t care. As long as I’m with you.”
I squeeze his hand.
“I want to try again. For a baby.”
He stops walking.
“Are you sure? After—”
“I’m not ready yet. But someday. When I’ve healed. I want to try.”
“We can adopt—”
“Maybe we’ll do both. Biological and adopted. A house full of kids.”
He smiles.
“That sounds perfect.”
We end up at a coffee shop.
Our old favorite.
Order our usual drinks.
Sit by the window.
“I have one condition,” I say.
“Anything.”
“No more secrets. No more trying to protect me by keeping things from me. If something’s wrong, you tell me. Immediately.”
“Deal.”
“And therapy. For both of us. Together and separately.”
“Already scheduled couples counseling. My therapist recommended someone.”
“Good.”
“Any other conditions?”
“Just one. Choose me. Every day. Even when it’s hard.”
“Especially when it’s hard.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
We clink our coffee cups together.
And I realize: this is the fresh start we needed.
Not the one three years ago when he thought Celeste was gone.
This one.
Built on truth. On choice. On healing.
It’s not perfect.
But it’s real.
And that’s all I need.
END OF CHAPTER 26
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