“Kneel.” The rain was coming down so hard Elena Vance almost convinced herself she had misheard her husband.

Spring brought a different kind of warmth to Baltimore—one that didn't feel like it carried the threat of a storm.

On a warm Saturday in April, Elena stood under the stone portico where she had once knelt in the freezing rain. She wore a simple cream-colored linen dress, her hair pinned back loosely, and her breath steady as she watched Maya and Ruth plant yellow tulips along the stone pathway.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

Damian stepped out of the foyer, holding a light jacket over his arm. He stopped beside her, his shoulder brushing hers.

“You’re staring at the drain,” he observed quietly.

“I’m remembering,” Elena corrected gently.

“Do you want me to have the courtyard repaved?” he asked, his voice carrying a sudden, fierce protectiveness. “We can tear it up. Put down grass. Anything you want.”

Elena turned her head to look at him. She reached out, sliding her fingers into his hand. The platinum band with its glass inlay caught the spring sunlight.

“No,” she said. “Leave it.”

Damian frowned. “Why?”

“Because every time I walk past it, I’ll remember how close I came to breaking,” Elena said, her voice steady and clear. “And I’ll remember who was standing at the top of the steps when I decided I wouldn't.”

Damian tightened his grip around her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. He didn't offer an apology; he had already given her the only thing that mattered—his absolute, unyielding presence.

From the garden, Maya called out, “Ellie! Damian! Come look at this one! It’s huge!”