POV: Sofia
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Ten years.
Ten years since a man walked into my bookstore and changed everything. Ten years since I said yes to a marriage I didn't want. Ten years since I fell in love with the enemy.
Luna was eleven now, tall and fierce, with her father's eyes and my stubbornness. Elena was nine, quiet and sharp, with my love of books and her father's intensity.
They were growing up. Changing. Becoming themselves.
"Ten years," Antonio said, watching them play in the garden.
"Ten years."
"Do you regret it?"
I looked at him—at the man I'd married, the father of my children, the partner I'd chosen—and smiled.
"Not for a second."
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ANTONIO
We had a party for the anniversary.
Family. Friends. Everyone who'd helped us survive, who'd helped us build this life. Sasha and Marco, with their three kids. Carlo and Maria, with baby Isabella. Elena, with a new husband who made her laugh. My father, older now, softer, holding his grandchildren like they were the only thing that mattered.
"You did good," he said, watching Luna and Elena play.
"We did good."
"You." He looked at me. "You're not the man I raised."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"I'm proud of you," he said. "I don't say it enough. But I'm proud of the man you've become."
He walked away before I could answer. Sofia found me standing there, staring after him.
"What did he say?"
"He said he's proud of me."
She smiled. "He should be."
---
SOFIA
The night after the party, I couldn't sleep.
I went to the garden, sat on the bench where Antonio and I had sat a thousand times. The moon was full, the stars bright, the garden quiet.
Antonio found me there an hour later.
"Thinking?" he asked, sitting beside me.
"Just... remembering."
"What?"
"Everything. The bookstore. The wedding. The first time you read me Neruda." I leaned against him. "The first time you held Luna. The first time you told me you loved me."
He kissed my hair. "That's a lot of remembering."
"It's a lot of life."
We sat in silence, watching the moon.
"Do you think we'll make it another ten years?" I asked.
"I think we'll make it another fifty."
"Fifty?"
"At least." He took my hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Sofia. Not ever."
I looked at our hands, intertwined, and thought about the first time we'd held hands. The car ride to the warehouse. The night he'd told me about his mother. The morning he'd given me her ring.
"I love you," I said. "I never say it enough."
"You say it every day. In everything you do." He kissed me. "That's enough."
---
ANTONIO
We walked back to the house together.
The lights were off. The girls were asleep. The house was quiet—the house we'd built, the garden we'd planted, the life we'd made.
Sofia stopped at the door, looked back at the garden.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just... this." She gestured at everything. "All of it. The life we built. The family we made. The peace we found."
"It's what you wanted?"
"It's what I never knew I wanted." She took my hand. "It's everything."
I pulled her close, kissed her, let myself be grateful.
For the woman who'd walked into my life and changed everything.
For the daughters who'd made me someone new.
For the peace I'd never thought I'd find.
"This is everything," I said. "You're everything."
She kissed me, and I held her, and in the quiet of our garden, I let myself believe in forever.
---
SOFIA
Ten years.
Ten years since I'd stood in my bookstore, terrified of the man who'd come to claim me. Ten years since I'd learned to see past the monster to the man beneath. Ten years since I'd chosen love over fear, hope over despair.
I looked at my husband, my daughters, my home.
I looked at the life we'd built.
And I knew—this was what I'd been waiting for my whole life. This was the peace I'd never thought I'd find. This was the love I'd never thought I'd deserve.
Antonio took my hand.
"Ready to go in?"
"Almost." I looked at the garden one more time—the roses from his mother, the tomatoes from my grandmother, the flowers we'd planted together—and smiled.
"Now I'm ready."
We walked inside, closed the door behind us, and let the quiet settle around us like a blessing.