I wake up the next morning—and I have to check the date on my phone because it’s kind of hard to believe. We must have both been so physically and emotionally drained after everything that’s happened that we slept right through the afternoon and night.

Sun rays filter through my thin, cheap curtains, bathing my apartment with a soft, warm, surreal glow.

Was it all real, or just a dream? It kind of doesn’t seem real, but my imagination can’t possibly dream up this level of detail: Luke’s breaths tickling my skin, the blunt tips of the scruff lining his strong jaw, the weight of his arm around me.

It’s almost unbelievable that everything worked out so perfectly, that Luke was willing to forgive me, and that I could finally accept that I want to be with him.

I smile to myself and turn around gently, careful not to wake him. He’s still sleeping peacefully, perfectly at rest. He looks as happy and content as I feel.

I trace my fingers gently over the contours of his beautiful features. His strong nose, his full lips, his chiseled jawline with that perfect amount of stubble that drives me wild. I spend a few minutes just looking at him, admiring him, still not quite believing that he’s mine, truly mine, and that I don’t need to keep pretending to myself that I don’t care for him.

Because I do care for him. I love him, and I realize now that I have done for a long time. I was just too scared to admit it to myself.

My past has really screwed me up, and it nearly ruined this too. Losing Gio all those years ago has made me scared to commit, scared to let people in.

I guess, deep down, I’ve always been afraid that if I let myself get too close to someone, they might get taken away from me, just like he was.

But I finally feel like I can let all that go now. I can move on and let Luke into my life, into my heart.

We’ll build a future together, a family together, and I can forget about all that bullshit from my past. Events from our past shape us, but we don’t have to let them define us. Not everyone is a selfish narcissist like my parents were, and not everyone is going to be taken from me like Gio was.

It’s okay to just let go, to let your heart and your emotions guide you, and it’s okay to not know what’s going to happen in the future. Sometimes, you just need to let go and let the river of life’s events carry you. I understand that now, and I’m happy to go along for the ride.

Because Luke’s by my side, and I know he’ll be with me every step of the way. My heart soars with love for him, so hard that I think it might burst.

Under my watchful eyes, Luke wakes up slowly, emerging from his slumber in stages. A twitch of his nose, a yawn, and then finally his eyes flutter open.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says. “Now, that’s a sight I could get accustomed to seeing when I wake.” He stretches, his muscles bunching.

“I still can’t believe it wasn’t all a dream,” I say.

He grins. “Well, I know that I’m dreamy as hell, but I’m all real.” He pats his chest and winks at me. “See? You can touch for yourself if you want.”

And I do, marveling at his warm skin and hard muscles. He shivers a little as I run my hands down his chest, and pulls me in for a kiss. My heart swells with happiness again.

In the space of one day, I’ve gone from thinking I lost everything, to having it all once more. My job, my baby . . . and hey, the most eligible bachelor in the country wants to be with me. That’s got to count for something too, right?

He sits up, pushing me over onto my side and straddling me. I laugh and push back against him but he’s too strong.

“I honestly thought you were never going to come around,” he says. “You are the most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever met. I even brought out the Maserati, and you still weren’t on board.”

I giggle, struggling against his hands. “I’m just glad you never gave up on me.”

“Never,” he whispers, leaning down and kissing me. “Not in a million years.”

He starts kissing his way down my body—little light flutters on my neck that make me instantly wet, then down, down, to my nipples, that he takes between his lips and nibbles ever so gently with his tongue.

I moan, struggling—he’s still got me pinned. But he’s too strong and I’m just going to have to let him have his way with me . . . which, honestly, doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.

He’s kissing my belly when my tummy rumbles, loudly, and I suddenly remember that I didn’t even eat anything the day before. He carries on, but then his stomach emits a gurgle too.

We both look each other in the eyes for a split second, the simultaneously crack up.

“You’re carrying my baby in there,” he says. “And I think he or she is telling us that we need to get some damn food in your belly.” He dips his head down to my belly. “You’re hungry, aren’t you, junior? Your mom hasn’t been taking good care of you. Well, don’t worry, Daddy’s here now and he’ll get you some food.”

We roll off the bed, laughing. His cheesy words to our baby send flutters spreading throughout my body.

“I don’t have anything to eat in my apartment,” I tell him.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

I lightly smack him on his arm, quietly relishing the feel of his hard muscles.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” he says. “Just my clothes from yesterday.”

I think for a moment. “There’s an awesome little cafe down the street. Great brunch. No dress code. I’ll wear something terrible so you won’t be the only bad dresser there.”

I pull on some sweats and run into the living room to grab a tie for my hair. As I wrangle my messy hair into submission, I find the annulment papers on the floor of my living room. I pick it up and stare at it.

It looks out of place, now that I won’t be needing it anymore. With a small smile of satisfaction, I tear it up into little pieces and dump it into the trash.

Back in my bedroom, Luke has put on his crumpled shirt and pants. He strikes a pose. “How do I look? Good enough for us not to get thrown out?”

I pretend to appraise him with a critical eye. “Crumpled shirts are a bit last season, but you make it work. Come on, lets go.”

We wander down the street, hand in hand, giggling and laughing with each other. We probably look like crazy people—bed hair, no makeup, wearing pajamas and wilted office wear, but I don’t care. I only have eyes for him . . . and my breakfast.

We wolf down our avocado toast like people who haven’t eaten for days . . . which, I guess we are, really. And it’s only when I finish my meal that I come to a realization.

Not even a hint of morning sickness. In fact, I feel . . . good. Really damn good. Not just mentally, but physically as well. It’s like a weight has been lifted off, and I haven’t felt so content and at peace for a really long time.

We eat and we drink, we chat and we laugh, and we stare at each other over the little table, surrounded by other diners that I never even register.

There’s just me, and my husband. My for-real, not-going-to-get-divorced husband.

And I’ve never been so happy.