Hope’s question still made my heart race even after all these years.
We sat around the long family table, the same one where Dylan and I had once argued in silence. Hope, now thirty-two, leaned forward with her own daughter on her lap. Lucas sat beside her with his wife. Rose held her twin boys. Noah stood behind his chair, arms crossed, watching us with quiet curiosity. Our grandchildren filled the remaining seats, eyes wide, waiting.
“Mom,” Hope said again, voice soft but determined. “How did you and Dad really find your way back to each other? You’ve told us pieces. But never the whole truth.”
I looked at Dylan across the table. His gray eyes met mine, steady and warm. He gave a small nod.
“All right,” I said, taking a breath. “You deserve to know more. But some parts are still hard
