Chapter 11 - “DO YOU STILL WANT TO MARRY ME?”
Wyatt pulled out a ring box.
I stared at him.
“We’re already engaged.”
“Technically.”
“What does technically mean?”
“The original proposal happened before your father tried to reorganize our relationship with construction materials.”
I laughed.
“You cannot joke about that.”
“You just laughed.”
“That proves nothing.”
He opened the box.
My engagement ring sat inside.
Police had held it temporarily with my belongings after the attack.
Wyatt had gotten it back, cleaned it and kept it until he decided I was ready.
“Sadie Davis.”
His voice became serious.
“Do you still want to marry me?”
Months earlier, I had asked him whether he still wanted me.
Now he was giving the choice back.
To me.
I looked at the ring.
Then at the scar reflected faintly in the dark lake water.
“Yes.”
His face softened.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger.
Then kissed my hand.
No dramatic crowd.
No family demanding attention.
Just two people on a dock.
That was enough.
We did not rush the wedding.
That surprised almost everyone.
After everything my family had tried to do, people expected us to marry immediately as some triumphant statement.
I didn’t want my wedding to become a response to my parents.
So we waited.
Another year.
The hardware training program expanded.
Our first apprenticeship group graduated.
One young woman named Tasha completed electrical training and was hired by one of Wyatt’s former business partners.
She hugged me after graduation.
“I almost didn’t apply.”
“Why?”
“I thought programs like this were for people who already knew somebody.”
That sentence reminded me why Grandpa’s money mattered.
Not because eleven million dollars proved I had won.
Because it could become access.
My father had believed inheritance meant power over others.
Walter believed resources created obligations.
I chose Walter’s version.
We established a scholarship fund connected to the apprenticeship center.
Trade schools.
Certification fees.
Tools.
Transportation.
Childcare support.
Things that often look small until you don’t have them.
Harvey attended every board meeting despite pretending he hated meetings.
Janice joined the scholarship committee.
Even Wyatt volunteered.
The Davis name slowly became something different to me.
Not clean.
History doesn’t become clean because you put a plaque on a building.
But reclaimed.
Then, shortly before our wedding, my mother requested permission to send me a letter from custody.
For three days, I didn’t open it.
May you like
When I finally did, the first sentence was exactly what I expected.
The second wasn’t.
