By sixty-eight, I’d already buried the two women I loved most in this world.

The weeks following the signed annulment brought a quiet, healing peace back to our lives.

The public narrative completely inverted once the news leaked that Claire had signed a full, unconditional surrender in legal proceedings. The social media posts were deleted, the gossip faded, and the community members who had previously doubted us quietly offered awkward, apologetic nods when they saw Emmett at the grocery store or church.

We didn't care about their apologies. Our focus was entirely on Margot.

By early spring, the trees around our house began to bloom with deep pink cherry blossoms. Margot turned six years old, her laughter filling the house once again, her bouncy energy restored completely.

On a warm Saturday afternoon, Emmett and I were in the backyard building a custom wooden playhouse that Margot had designed on a piece of construction paper.

I was sitting on a sawhorse, measuring oak planks, while Emmett was securing the frame with a power drill.

Margot was sitting on the grass nearby, painting small wooden flower boxes with bright yellow paint, her tongue sticking out in deep concentration.

“Grandpa!” Margot called out, holding up a yellow box covered in green glitter. “Look! This one is for Mommy’s garden!”

My heart did a soft, gentle turn in my chest.

Ever since Phoebe died, we had maintained a small memorial garden near the back patio—a quiet spot surrounded by white hydrangeas, Phoebe’s favorite flowers, where Margot could plant her own creations.

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” I smiled, wiping my sawdust-covered hands on my apron. “Let's go set it next to the hydrangeas.”

Margot skipped over, taking my hand, and guided me toward the garden path. She set the yellow box neatly between two stone pavers, looking up at the framed photograph of Phoebe that sat inside a weatherproof brass lantern on the garden wall.

“Mommy would like yellow,” Margot declared happily.

“She loved yellow, darling,” I murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

Emmett walked over, setting his drill on the bench, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. We stood together in the warm spring sunlight, watching the little girl who represented everything good left in our world.

“I was so afraid, Arthur,” Emmett admitted quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he watched his daughter. “When Claire said those things... for a second, I felt like I had failed Phoebe. I felt like I brought a monster into my daughter's life.”

I turned to look at my son-in-law—the man who had stood by my daughter until her last breath, and who had fought like a lion to protect her child.

“You didn't bring a monster into her life, Emmett,” I said firmly. “You brought truth into her life. You showed her that a real father doesn't compromise when it comes to his child's dignity.”

Emmett nodded slowly, a real, unburdened smile finally gracing his face.

“What are we doing for dinner tonight, Dad?” Emmett asked, bumping his shoulder against mine.

“I was thinking homemade pizza,” I laughed. “Margot’s turn to pick the toppings.”