Chapter 9 - Return to Florence
Six months later, the summer breeze was warm and fragrant in the hills of Tuscany.
We stood on the overlook of the Piazzale Michelangelo in Florence, looking out over the red-tiled roofs of the city, the Ponte Vecchio, and the shimmering Arno River below. It was the exact spot where Maya and I had taken our photo eight years ago—the photo inside the silver locket.
Lily and Mia were running ahead, giggling as they chased pigeons near the balustrade, their bright dresses fluttering in the gentle wind. They had grown so much over the past half-year. They were healthy, confident, and utterly adored by everyone who met them.
Maya stood beside me, wearing a simple white summer dress. Her health was fully restored; her cheeks were pink with vitality, and her eyes sparkled with the joy that had been stolen from her for so long.
“It feels like a dream,” Maya whispered, slipping her hand into mine. “Seven years ago, I thought I would never see this city again. I thought I would never see you again.”
“It’s not a dream, Maya,” I said, turning to face her. “It’s our reality now. Nobody can ever separate us again.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box.
Maya gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as tears immediately welled up in her eyes.
I knelt on one knee on the ancient cobblestones of Florence, just as the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and purple.
“Maya Lin,” I said, my voice rich with deep, undeniable devotion. “Seven years ago, our story was stolen from us by lies and cruelty. But love found a way back. You gave me two beautiful daughters, and you showed me what true courage looks like. I don’t want to waste another second of my life without you as my wife. Will you marry me?”
Lily and Mia stopped chasing the pigeons and ran over, standing beside us with wide, eager eyes.
“Say yes, Mom!” Mia squealed, clapping her hands.
“Say yes!” Lily echoed, jumping up and down.
Maya laughed through her tears, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around my neck as I stood up.
May you like
“Yes!” she cried out, her voice ringing clear over the Florentine plaza. “A thousand times yes, Ethan!”
I slipped the ring—a stunning, elegant emerald cut diamond framed by two smaller stones representing our daughters—onto her finger, pulling her into a passionate kiss as our daughters cheered and hugged our legs.
