Chapter 10 - I Finally Chose the Man Who Had Given Me a Choice
Five years later, Saint Matthew's Cathedral was filled with sunlight.
Not for another wedding.
For a christening.
Our daughter was six months old.
Her name was Rose.
She had Roman's dark eyes and my stubbornness.
At least, that was what everyone claimed.
Grant argued she had my mother's smile.
My mother said she had Arthur's determination.
Roman simply said she was perfect.
I stood near the altar holding Rose while Roman spoke with the priest.
Looking at him, I remembered the first words he'd whispered to me after our original ceremony.
Smile, Evelyn.
Your brother is watching.
At the time, I had believed those words meant I was entering another prison.
I never imagined they would one day become a reminder of how far we'd come.
Roman turned toward me.
He smiled.
A genuine smile.
No threat.
No performance.
No audience to impress.
Just love.
After the ceremony, our family gathered outside.
Grant held Rose.
She grabbed his tie and nearly pulled him forward.
I laughed.
“She's strong.”
“She gets that from you,” he said.
Roman walked over.
“She gets it from both of you.”
Grant looked at me.
“You happy?”
I glanced at Roman.
Then at my daughter.
Then at my mother.
“Yes.”
Grant nodded.
“Good.”
There was no bitterness left between us.
Not completely.
Some wounds never disappeared.
But they no longer controlled us.
Later that afternoon, Roman and I returned home.
The estate no longer felt like his.
It felt like ours.
The security walls had come down.
Most cameras had been removed.
Only a few remained for safety.
I walked into the bedroom.
The dress from our original wedding was gone.
Roman had burned it months earlier.
I hadn't asked him to.
He said he wanted the past to stop hanging in the closet.
I laughed when he told me.
“You burned a designer wedding dress?”
“Yes.”
“That cost a fortune.”
“So did my mistake.”
I kissed him.
Now, years later, we stood in front of the mirror together.
He wrapped his arms around me.
I leaned into him.
“You ever regret marrying me?” he asked.
I smiled.
“Every morning.”
He laughed.
“Liar.”
“Fine.”
I turned around.
“Not once.”
His expression softened.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“You're supposed to say it back.”
“I love you too.”
He kissed me.
Then Rose began crying through the baby monitor.
We both sighed.
“That girl has perfect timing,” Roman said.
“She gets that from you.”
We went downstairs together.
My mother was in the kitchen.
Grant was trying to fix a toy.
He had somehow made it worse.
I watched them for a moment.
This was not the family from years ago.
There were no hidden ledgers.
No threats.
No political deals.
No men waiting outside doors.
No one deciding who belonged to whom.
I thought about the scars on my back.
They were still there.
Some days they hurt.
Some days I forgot about them.
But they no longer represented shame.
They represented survival.
Roman never asked me to hide them.
He never treated them like something broken.
Once, when I'd asked him whether he still saw them when he looked at me, he had answered,
“I see them.”
My heart had fallen.
Then he'd continued.
“And I see the woman who survived them.”
That was the difference.
He had never asked me to become someone else.
He had simply waited until I could become myself.
That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, I stood alone in front of the bedroom mirror.
I touched the old scar near my shoulder.
I remembered the night I'd first shown it to Roman.
I remembered his face.
The way anger had replaced every trace of cruelty.
The way he had asked my permission before touching me.
The way he had spent years proving that love could be safe.
There was a soft knock.
Roman entered.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He came closer.
“What are you thinking?”
“The wedding.”
He smiled.
“The first one?”
“Yes.”
“I hated that day.”
“So did I.”
“And yet…”
He took my hand.
“I wouldn't change one thing that brought us here.”
I looked at him.
“Even the scars?”
His expression became serious.
“No.”
He kissed the scar gently.
“Not because I wanted you hurt.”
“I know.”
“But because they remind me never to take your strength for granted.”
I smiled.
“Good answer.”
“I've had years of practice.”
We stood together.
Then I noticed something on the dresser.
A photograph.
Our first wedding photograph.
Roman and me beneath the cathedral ceiling.
Everyone smiling.
Everyone pretending.
Except our faces looked different now.
Behind us, Grant stood watching.
His expression in the photograph looked terrified.
I remembered the threat.
I remembered the deal.
I remembered the night Roman had seen my scars.
And I realized something.
That first marriage had begun as a weapon.
But it had not remained one.
Somewhere between the lies and the fear, we had built something real.
Not perfect.
Not innocent.
But ours.
The next morning, I woke to Rose laughing.
Roman was still asleep beside me.
I watched him for a moment.
The powerful man.
The feared man.
The man who had once married me to end a war.
He opened one eye.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“Because you're snoring.”
“I don't snore.”
“You do.”
He pulled me closer.
“Prove it.”
“I have recordings.”
He laughed.
I kissed him.
Downstairs, our family was waiting.
I got out of bed.
Before leaving the room, I looked once more at the photograph.
Then I smiled.
Not because anyone was watching.
Not because I was pretending.
Not because my brother had made a deal.
Not because my husband demanded it.
I smiled because, after everything, I finally understood something I had spent my entire life searching for.
Freedom was not the absence of fear.
Freedom was being able to choose who you loved after fear no longer controlled you.
I had chosen Roman.
He had chosen me.
And every morning since, we chose each other again.
The house filled with laughter.
Rose squealed.
Grant complained about the baby toy.
My mother called for breakfast.
Roman came up behind me and took my hand.
We walked downstairs together.
The family that had once been divided by blood had finally been healed by truth.
And for the first time, our names meant something different.
Not power.
Not revenge.
Not fear.
May you like
Home.
The End
