Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~7 min read
EMILIA
It’s been three months since the cathedral.
Three months of living together, co-parenting, falling more in love every day.
And I’m ready.
I find Asher in his home office—he converted one of the spare rooms—working on some investment consultation. He’s building a new career, one that lets him be present for Miles.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway.
He looks up, smiles. “Hey yourself. Miles asleep?”
“Finally. He fought it for forty minutes. Wanted you to read one more book.”
“I’ll read him a hundred books.”
“He’ll hold you to that.”
I come in, close the door behind me. Asher notices.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s perfect. That’s actually what I want to talk about.”
I’m nervous, which is ridiculous. We’ve been together for months. We sleep in the same bed every night. But this feels like a step, and steps are scary.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start.
“That’s usually when things get interesting.”
“Asher, I’m serious.”
“Sorry. I’m listening.”
I take a breath. “We’ve been taking things slow. Which was the right call. I needed time to trust again, to feel safe.”
“Okay…”
“And I do. Feel safe. With you, with us, with this life we’re building.”
His eyes are soft. “I’m glad.”
“So I’ve been thinking—maybe we don’t have to go so slow anymore.”
Understanding dawns. “Emilia…”
“I want this. Want you. All of you, not just the careful, measured version we’ve been doing.”
He stands, moves toward me. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I love you. I trust you. And I want to be with you. Completely.”
He cups my face, searches my eyes. “I don’t want you to feel pressured—”
“I’m not. This is me choosing you. Choosing us. No hesitation, no fear. Just… yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me, and it’s different than our other kisses. This one is full of promise, of permission, of finally letting go of all the barriers we’ve maintained.
We make our way upstairs, stopping every few steps to kiss again, to touch, to relearn each other.
In our bedroom—it’s become “our” not “mine” sometime in the past month—we slow down.
“We don’t have to rush,” Asher says.
“I know. But I want to. I’ve waited two years. I’m done waiting.”
[FADE TO BLACK – maintaining AdSense compliance]
Later, wrapped in his arms, I feel complete in a way I haven’t since before he left.
“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”
“I love you too.” I trace patterns on his chest. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For waiting. For not pushing. For letting me set the pace.”
“I’d wait forever for you. I almost had to.” He kisses my hair. “But I’m glad you’re done making me wait.”
I laugh. “Your patience was very noble.”
“It was torture. But worth it.”
We lay in comfortable silence, just being together.
“Emilia?”
“Mm?”
“What are we doing? Long-term, I mean.”
I prop myself up to look at him. “What do you want to be doing?”
“Everything. Marriage, more kids, growing old together. The whole package.”
My heart races. “Is that a proposal?”
“Not yet. I’m planning something better than a post-sex conversation.” He grins. “But I want you to know—that’s where I see this going. If you do.”
“I do. See it going there, I mean. Not now, necessarily. But eventually.”
“Eventually works for me. As long as it’s guaranteed eventually.”
“Nothing’s guaranteed, Asher.”
“True. But some things are pretty damn likely. And us? We’re forever. I’m certain of that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve lived without you. I know what that’s like. And I’m never going back.” He pulls me closer. “You’re stuck with me, Rodriguez.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
We fall asleep tangled together, and when Miles wakes us at 6 AM demanding breakfast, we go to him together.
Our son, our life, our future.
All of it real, all of it ours.
The next morning, over coffee while Miles destroys a waffle, Asher brings it up again.
“I meant what I said last night. About forever.”
“I know.”
“So we’re doing this? Really doing this?”
“We’re really doing this.”
“Boyfriend and girlfriend feels inadequate.”
“Partners,” I suggest again.
“Fiancés would be better.”
I throw a piece of waffle at him. “Easy, Blackwood. Wine and dine me first.”
“I’m planning to. Just giving you fair warning: proposal is coming.”
“How romantic. Taking all the surprise out of it.”
“You hate surprises.”
“True.” I sip my coffee. “Okay, fine. I’ll expect a proposal at some point in the future. But make it good.”
“Oh, it’ll be good. I’ve been planning it for years.”
“Years?”
“Well, two years. The proposal I was going to give you before my father derailed everything. I’m updating it. Making it better.”
“No pressure.”
“I work well under pressure.”
Miles throws a piece of waffle at me. It lands in my coffee.
“Nice arm, buddy,” Asher says.
“He gets that from you.”
“I had terrible aim as a kid.”
“Then from me. I threw dodgeballs like a pro.”
We clean up the waffle carnage, give Miles a bath to remove syrup from places syrup shouldn’t be, then head down to the lake.
It’s become our weekend routine. Coffee, breakfast chaos, lake time.
Miles runs ahead, chasing birds, laughing when they fly away.
“I’m happy,” I say suddenly.
“Good. You should be.”
“No, I mean really happy. Content-with-my-life happy. Wake-up-smiling happy.”
“Me too.” He takes my hand. “Best three months of my life.”
“Better than before? When we were together the first time?”
“Way better. Because this time, I’m not taking it for granted. I know how precious this is.”
Miles trips, falls, and we both tense. But he pops back up, laughing, and keeps running.
“He’s resilient,” Asher observes.
“Kids are. They bounce back.”
“Think we can bounce back? From anything that comes?”
“I think we already have. The hard part is over. Now we just get to enjoy it.”
“Don’t jinx it.”
“Not jinxing. Just believing.”
We spend an hour at the lake, then head back for lunch. The day stretches ahead, full of ordinary moments.
And that’s the beauty of it.
We’ve moved past the drama, the grand gestures, the life-altering revelations.
Now it’s just life. Beautiful, mundane, perfectly imperfect life.
Lunch and naps and playing in the yard.
Dinner and baths and bedtime stories.
All of it ordinary. All of it precious.
Because we almost lost it.
And now that we have it back, we’re never letting go.
That night, after Miles is asleep, Asher pulls me onto the deck.
“Dance with me.”
“There’s no music.”
“Don’t need it.”
He pulls me close, and we sway together under the stars, moving to a rhythm only we can hear.
“This is nice,” I murmur against his chest.
“This is perfect.”
“Think we’ll always be this happy?”
“I think we’ll have hard days. Fights. Stress. The normal stuff.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“But we’ll get through it. Together. And the happy days will outnumber the hard ones.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
We dance until we’re both yawning, then head to bed.
Our bed. Our room. Our house. Our life.
Everything I never thought I’d have again.
Everything I’m finally brave enough to believe in.
Forever might be a long time.
But with Asher and Miles, forever doesn’t seem nearly long enough.
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