Chapter 6 - A SECOND CHANCE AT LOVE—AND AN UNANSWERED TEST
Four months later, he proposed.
There were no photographers.
No violinist.
No restaurant full of strangers applauding.
We were sitting in his car outside my building after Thai takeout.
He looked at me and said, “I think we should get married.”
I almost choked on my water.
“That is the least romantic proposal in New York history.”
“I can kneel in the parking garage if you want.”
I laughed.
He took my hand.
Then his expression changed.
“I’m serious, Claire.”
I looked at him.
“So am I.”
“I love you. I like my life more when you’re in it. I respect what you’ve built. I know you have scars I didn’t create and can’t erase. I’m not asking you to forget them.”
My throat tightened.
“I also know marriage scares you now.”
“It does.”
“It scares me too.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because loving someone gives them the ability to hurt you.”
I stared at him.
“Anyone telling you otherwise is selling something.”
I laughed through sudden tears.
He squeezed my hand.
“I’m asking anyway.”
“No giant diamond?”
“Not unless you want one.”
“No speech about forever?”
“I’m hoping for forever. I don’t control forever.”
That was when I knew.
Not because he promised certainty.
Because he respected reality.
“Yes.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
And for the first time in my adult life, love did not feel like a cliff.
It felt like ground.
Luke and I married seven months after my canceled wedding.
Small ceremony.
Forty-two guests.
My parents’ backyard on Long Island.
White roses.
String lights.
My grandmother’s hairpin.
I did not wear the old dress.
I donated it to a charity that helped brides dealing with financial hardship.
My mother cried when I told her.
“So something good came out of it,” she said.
I shook my head.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“Something good came after it. That’s different.”
I needed that distinction.
I would never thank betrayal for teaching me a lesson.
Pain did not deserve credit for the person I became while surviving it.
The morning I married Luke, my father stood beside me near the back door.
“You sure?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
“Really sure?”
“Dad.”
“I have PTSD from weddings.”
I laughed so hard the photographer caught the exact moment.
Then the music started.
Luke stood beneath an old maple tree.
No dramatic expression.
No tears prepared for an audience.
Just that steady look I had come to trust.
My father offered his arm.
Halfway down the aisle, he whispered, “This one looks smarter.”
“Dad.”
“I’m just saying.”
I nearly ruined my makeup laughing.
When I reached Luke, he leaned toward me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Still want to do this?”
“Ask me again and I’m leaving.”
He smiled.
We got married.
Six weeks later, Brooke gave birth prematurely to a baby boy.
I learned that only much later.
At the hospital, Evan requested a paternity test.
Brooke fought him.
Then begged him.
Then accused him of using the test as an excuse to return to me.
May you like
He waited.
The result was absolute.
