August marks our one-year anniversary.
Not of being together—that timeline is too complicated to track. But one year since the night at Giovanni's when my father sold me and everything changed.
"Should we celebrate?" I ask Marcus over breakfast. "Or is that weird?"
"Everything about us is weird. Might as well celebrate anyway."
"Fair point. What do you want to do?"
"Something meaningful. Not just dinner and flowers."
We decide to spend the day at the lake house. Just us. Reflecting on the year that changed everything.
We pack a picnic—Marcus insists on making the food himself—and drive out early Saturday morning.
The lake house looks different in summer. Green and alive instead of the stark winter landscape where we first escaped to after the fire.
"A lot has happened here," I obs
