Built to Last
850 Words
Chapter 8: Built to Last
Spring arrived with purpose.
The air smelled of fresh lumber, dewy soil, and blooming magnolias from the trees lining the street. The low hum of cranes and the sharp clang of steel punctuated the morning like a heartbeat. Beatrice stood at the edge of the construction site—clipboard in hand, boots coated in dust, the wind tugging gently at her hair.
This was her site.
Her design. Her signature on every plan. Her vision taking shape in steel and sweat and sky.
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of concrete and potential. She’d come so far—from the woman who once dimmed her light for someone else’s ego, to the one now commanding crews and carving skylines.
This was what rebuilding looked like.
A familiar voice broke through the wind. “Boss?”
She turned, already smiling. Blake was striding toward her, two coffees in hand and sawdust in his hair.
“For you,” he said, offering one with a crooked grin.
She raised an eyebrow as she took it. “If this is a bribe to agree with you on the south column placement, I’m not that cheap.”
Blake laughed, his voice low and warm. “No, that one’s already in your favor. I’ve accepted defeat.”
Beatrice smirked. “I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Terrifying thought,” he replied, nudging her shoulder.
They walked side by side through the site, weaving between rebar and marked foundations, their boots thudding softly against packed dirt.
Occasionally, Beatrice called out instructions to workers, who responded with quick nods and respect in their eyes.
Blake watched her with something just shy of awe.
“You’ve built an army,” he murmured.
“I’ve built a team,” she corrected.
“And they’d follow you through fire.”
She glanced up at him. “Would you?”
He didn’t blink. “Already have.”
Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary. Then Beatrice looked away, heat blooming in her cheeks despite the breeze.
They continued walking, discussing concrete pours and delivery schedules, but the air between them held something deeper—something calm and certain.
Later, they climbed to the temporary platform overlooking the western wing of the project. From up there, the city spread out like a living blueprint—unfinished, but full of promise.
As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across scaffolding and beams, Blake leaned on the railing beside her.
“You know,” he said, voice thoughtful, “you’ve built more than just towers and frameworks here.”
Beatrice tilted her head toward him. “Yeah?”
“You’ve built a home—for this team. For yourself. For us.”
She swallowed. The words settled somewhere deep.
“I never thought I’d get this again,” she whispered.
He turned to face her fully. “You didn’t get it by accident. You built it. You fought for it. You rose from the kind of heartbreak that would have buried most people.”
Her throat tightened. “Some days I still feel like I’m rebuilding.”
Blake nodded. “We all are. That’s the secret. There’s no ‘done’—only stronger.”
She looked at him, the wind brushing her face, dust glittering in the sunlight like gold.
“You know,” she said, trying to steady her voice, “for a guy who used to terrify the entire office, you’re weirdly poetic.”
He smiled. “Blame you. You make me softer.”
A beat passed. And then, suddenly, Blake reached into his jacket pocket.
Her breath caught as he dropped to one knee, right there on the metal platform beneath the skeletal frame of the building that bore her name.
“Beatrice,” he began, steady despite the dust swirling around them, “will you marry me?”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Not because I complete you,” Blake continued, “but because I see you. All of you. The fighter. The dreamer. The builder. And I want to spend the rest of my life building something with you—whatever shape it takes.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears—these were not the tears of heartbreak or regret. These were tears coming full circle.
“Yes,” she breathed, voice trembling. “God, yes.”
Below them, scattered crew members who had clearly been tipped off let out a chorus of cheers and whistles. One of them even yelled,
“Finally!”
Blake stood and slid the ring onto her finger—a simple band of gold, elegant and sturdy, just like her.
As he leaned in to kiss her, cranes rose behind them, silhouetted against a sky streaked with gold and lavender. The world continued building around them—but for a moment, everything stilled.
In his arms, amidst blueprints and beams and the scent of magnolias, Beatrice finally felt it:
She had been torn down.
She had rebuilt.
And now—together—they were built to last.
- Writer
