The maples along Stanton Avenue had already given up. Whatever the wind took off the parking lot that Wednesday came in cold, and it was the first cold that meant anything

By spring, the snow had melted, leaving the earth damp, sweet, and ready for new growth.

On a Saturday afternoon in April, Ethan drove his SUV down the quiet residential streets of Oakridge—the small town forty minutes south where Sarah had once caught the 7:15 bus.

Beside him in the passenger seat sat Sarah, holding a folder of real estate listings.

"Are you sure about this?" Sarah asked, turning to look at him as they pulled up to the curb of a charming two-story craftsman house with a wide front porch and a big oak tree in the front yard.

"I've never been more sure of anything," Ethan replied, turning off the engine.

The house had belonged to an elderly gardener who had recently moved to a retirement community. It had a sound roof, deep window sills, a sprawling backyard perfect for kids, and a small detached barn that Ethan had already envisioned turning into a woodworking shop for Liam and a painting studio for Sarah.

Liam and Norah tumbled out of the back seat the moment the doors unlocked, running straight toward the tire swing hanging from the big oak tree.

Sarah walked up the front steps, her hand sliding along the sturdy wooden handrail. She stood on the porch, looking out over the neighborhood.

"It looks like a home," she said quietly.

"It needs a little work," Ethan said, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "The porch railing needs sanding, and the kitchen could use new counters. But the structure is rock solid."

Sarah leaned back against his chest, closing her eyes as the soft spring breeze rustled the fresh green leaves above them.

"I spent two years moving from temporary apartment to temporary apartment, Ethan," she whispered. "Always keeping our suitcases half-packed, always holding a transfer ticket, waiting for the next leg of the journey."

Ethan turned her gently in his arms so she was looking at him. He pulled a small leather box from his jacket pocket—not a grand, flashy display of wealth, but a simple, beautifully crafted ring featuring an antique cut diamond set in warm gold.

"No more transfer tickets, Sarah," Ethan said, his voice deep, steady, and filled with unwavering love. "No more temporary seats. I want you and Norah to stay with us forever."

Sarah looked down at the ring, then up into Ethan's eyes, tears of joy spilling over her eyelashes.

"Yes," she whispered, laughing through her tears. "Yes, Ethan. Absolutely yes."