Dylan took my hand as we walked through the same garden where we once argued, ran from each other, and later renewed our vows, whispering, “We made it, my love. We really made it.”
The late afternoon light filtered through the old oak trees. Soft music played from the speakers near the terrace. Our entire family filled the garden. Hope stood with her husband and daughter. Lucas laughed with his wife and son. Rose chased her twins through the flower beds. Noah held his girlfriend’s hand while talking to his cousins. Grandchildren ran between the tables, their laughter rising into the warm air.
I looked up at Dylan. “Forty years, Dylan. Can you believe it?”
He squeezed my hand. “Every single one of them. Even the hard ones. Especially the hard ones.”
Hope walked over and hugged us both.
