“Serve the Maro table, or you’re fired before the lunch rush!” My manager, Frank, shoved a sweating metal tray of ice water into my hands. His breath smelled like cheap cigarillos and panic.

Six months later, the Maro estate no longer looked like a dreary museum of grief.

The heavy velvet drapes had been torn down and replaced with light, flowing white linen that fluttered in the warm river breeze. The mahogany furniture had been restored, and the gardens were blooming with red roses, white gardenias, and yellow marigolds.

In the center of the lawn stood a wooden playground set complete with three swings, a slide, and a sandbox where the triplets spent every afternoon.

Theo, Elias, and Camille were now fourteen months old, healthy, vibrant, and utterly unstoppable. They babbled continuously, ran across the grass on sturdy little legs, and showed no lingering physical effects from the trauma of their early months.

The local medical community called their full recovery a miracle.

I called it love.

In the legal world, the Vance trial had concluded three weeks prior. Arthur Miller and Julian Vance Sr. were sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole at Angola Penitentiary. Frank Miller received twenty years for his role in the financial conspiracy.

Isabella’s fifty-million-dollar maritime trust was formally cleared by the probate court, placed into a secure, blind family foundation managed jointly by Antoine and a team of independent, ethical trustees.

On a warm Saturday afternoon, my cousin Renee sat on the back patio sipping iced tea, watching her sons play tag with the triplets in the yard.

“I still can’t believe it,” Renee said, leaning back in her wicker chair with a happy sigh. “Six months ago, you were living on cold po' boys and worrying about Frank docking your pay. Now you’re running a charitable foundation that funds NICU cuddler programs across three states.”

I smiled, setting down my glass of lemonade. “We launched the May Marsh Infant Care Fund last Tuesday. We’ve already placed twenty-four trained volunteer cuddlers in hospitals across New Orleans and Baton Rouge.”

Renee looked at me tenderly, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “May would be so proud of you, Della. You turned your grief into a shield for hundreds of babies.”

“She lives in every lullaby I hum, Renee,” I whispered softly, looking up at the blue sky. “I didn't lose her memory. I just gave her love room to breathe.”

Footsteps sounded behind us, and Antoine stepped out onto the patio.

He was wearing a dark gray suit, looking impeccably handsome, but his eyes were fixed entirely on me. He walked up to my chair, leaned down, and kissed the top of my head before turning to Renee.

“Renee, Donovan has prepared the car,” Antoine said smoothly. “The driver will take you and the boys to the riverfront for the afternoon fireworks.”

Renee smirked, picking up her sunglasses. “Getting rid of us, Mr. Maro?”

“Strictly necessary legal business,” Antoine replied with a faint, dangerous wink. “Miss Marsh and I have a mandatory appointment.”

Once Renee and the children were guided out to the front driveway by Donovan, Antoine turned to me, offering his arm.

“Where are we going?” I asked, sliding my arm through his.

“To the city clerk’s office,” Antoine said as we walked down the grand marble steps toward his vintage silver Mercedes convertible.

I stopped on the bottom step, looking at him, surprised. “The city clerk? On a Saturday?”

Antoine opened the passenger door for me, his dark eyes glowing with warmth. He pulled a small, black velvet box from his jacket pocket and popped it open.

Inside rested a stunning, vintage platinum ring set with a brilliant, pear-cut yellow diamond that captured the afternoon sunlight like a beam of pure gold.

“Della Marsh,” Antoine said, dropping to one knee on the gravel driveway, looking up at me with absolute reverence. “You came into my life when I was a broken man walking through the dark. You protected my children, you brought justice to my family, and you taught me how to live again.”

He took my hand, his fingers strong and warm.

“I don't want a contract anymore,” Antoine whispered, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I want a life. Will you marry me, Della? Will you be my wife, my partner, and the mother of my children forever?”

I looked down at the man who had given me back my voice, my purpose, and my dignity.

I didn't hesitate for a single second.

“Yes,” I cried out, throwing my arms around his neck as he stood up, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around on the sunlit driveway. “Yes, Antoine! A thousand times yes!”

From the second-story balcony window, three tiny heads popped out through the white railings.

“Mama say yes!” Theo shouted, clapping his hands.

“Papa kiss Mama!” Elias giggled.

“Mama forever!” Camille cheered, her voice echoing across the garden like a beautiful, golden bell.