“Scarlett! You’ve got to see this. The verdict is being decided now!”

My colleague turns up the volume on his computer screen as a live stream newsfeed takes up the rest of his desktop. I’m joined by a few other reporters as we stare at the courtroom steps, where some reporters are giving live coverage of the Briggs Brothers trial.

It’s kind of a big story. I’m happy to say that all the information on the case will be in my next piece, which comes out every week now. I pull out a notepad and a pen to take notes as the reporter continues talking. My Claddagh ring glistens on the back of my right ring finger, facing inward.

“The infamous Briggs Brothers were responsible for some of the most invasive data breaches in history. After the capture of one of their guards, they were outed, extensive evidence provided by Kevin Mahoney in exchange for a lighter sentence. That information has led to the arrest of several members of their digital gang, a group that operated mainly on the dark web.”

The reporter is interrupted when the two brothers’ lawyer steps out onto the courthouse steps, his expression dour. The man is rushed by reporters tossing question after question at him.

He holds up his hands to get them to quiet down. “Obviously, the verdict of this trial is unjust, and we will be seeking a new trial as soon as possible. I have no further comment at this time.”

Another man exits the courthouse with a document, and the reporters rush him instead. This is a courthouse rep, someone who will actually provide decent information to the waiting public.

“A verdict has been issued in this case, finding the defendants guilty of crimes against the federal government as well as many private entities. Both Gareth and Richard Briggs will be sentenced to twenty years in prison with no parole. Any questions, please reach out to their council. Thank you.”

A cheer echoes across the Tribune, and I can’t help but grin as I accept several pats on the pack.

“You helped do this, Scarlett. Fantastic reporting. You outdid yourself with that one.”

I blush, and I don’t bother to conceal it. I’m not embarrassed. I’ve never been prouder of anything in my life.

When I woke up in that ambulance, every single memory had returned, like I was a computer that had been turned off and turned back on again. An easy fix, right? Maybe with computers but not so much with human brains.

I remembered it all, from the moment I discovered Gareth’s government code to the minute I realized that he was the one going after that information, using the journalist job as a cover to gather as much data as possible before taking action. It was a clever plan, and it might have worked if I hadn’t gotten wise to him.

And if Chantel hadn’t come out to me. She sold out to the cops after all – it’s part of the reason the Briggs brothers are in a world of pain, right now. Heck, she’s probably in another state with a different name, by now.

I suppose it might have worked were it not for Isaac and his determination to rescue me at any cost. That, too.

The thought of Isaac warms my heart, and I think about what I plan on doing with him—to him—when I get back home. The months since my final rescue have been wonderful ones, and I find that I have never known a life of such bliss. I’ve reached out to my family and told them everything, and my mom cried when she heard what I had been through. It wasn’t an easy conversation to have but I’m glad I did. My family and I have never been closer.

And they love Isaac. Not that it’s hard to do.

“Smith! Get in here!”

The room scatters at the sound of Preston’s voice, and I make my way down the hall, my throat constricting at the scent of his cigarette smoke. No matter how much time passes, I don’t think I’ll ever truly feel comfortable around smoke again. Too many bad encounters. Okay, two bad encounters. Two too many. Whatever. I don’t like smoke.

I step inside anyway, my desire to succeed professionally outweighing my PTSD, and I sit down across from Preston, waiting for whatever he’s going to yell at me about. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, Preston always seems to be yelling.

“You saw the report?” he asks, and I nod.

“Yes. Just as I wrote it yesterday. I knew what the verdict would be.”

He nods in approval. “Good. Send it to the presses. Get it out now so we can beat the rest. Good instinct on this one, Smith. You’ve earned a break.”

I lift an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously going to try and keep me away from here again, are you? You saw how well that worked last time.”

“Scarlett, I’m not kicking you out of here indefinitely, just for the afternoon. Take a break. Breathe in the fresh air of spring. Relax or something.”

“You think anyone in this building knows how to relax?”

He shrugs, and I almost see the barest hint of a smile beneath his leathery exterior. “Just get out of here already, will you? I’m sure there will be another story coming but that one will do for the moment. Here, have this,” he says, opening his drawer and pulling out a rum nip, tossing it at me. “Go celebrate.”

I hold the tiny liquor bottle in my hand and smirk up at him. “I might be too wasted to come in tomorrow, too, Chief,” I say, pocketing the miniscule bottle.

He chuckles, and I consider that quite the victory.

“Get out of here, Scarlett. We’ll see you later. And congratulations on bagging your man.”

“Thanks,” I say, thinking about Gareth and Richie, safe behind bars, unable to burn anyone alive again.

I stroll out of the office with a spring in my step, whistling as I step onto the red brick roads of Boston. The sun is beaming down, the air cool but not cold, my light jacket keeping me at the perfect temperature. I decide that it is a perfect day to walk back to the apartment, and I smile at people I pass by, waving at strangers like some crazy fool.

Today is the day I am officially free.

There was always a thought in the back of my mind, that perhaps they would find a way to get off. After all, Richie had enough power to get Gareth completely cleared of police charges in the past. Who’s to say they wouldn’t have found a way to get out of this situation as well? Had that happened, I would have had to go straight into witness protection, maybe taking Isaac with me.

Instead, I get to live my life free of fear now. I’m a thousand pounds lighter as I turn down the block that leads to our home, our lovely little apartment building in Somerville.

I look at my watch, a purchase I decided to make after realizing that I prefer to have my phone off whenever I can. Isaac should be getting off his shift at the station soon, and I start planning what we’ll have for dinner, looking forward to another night with my handsome knight in yellow, fireproof armor. I open the front door and check my mailbox, finding it empty before I slide my key into my apartment door.

The door is unlocked.

I freeze, my key still in the door. I always lock my door when I leave. I did that before my life was a constant pit of danger. Someone had to have snuck in. I remember the terror I felt when my television turned on by itself. I still have a hard time watching TV. I take a breath, bracing myself. Whatever is inside there, I can face it. I can face anything.

I consider calling Isaac before taking another step but I’m being foolish. Maybe I was scatterbrained this morning and forgot to lock my door. Since Isaac became a big part of my life, I have developed a sense of security that I’ve never had before. Of course, moments like these remind me that I’m not totally healed from my experiences.

I press the door inward, ready to face whatever is on the inside. In the middle of my living room, staring at me with wide amber eyes, is Buster, sitting like a perfect gentleman.

“Buster! What are you doing in here? You scared me half to death.”

I approach the furry creature, and he wags his tail as I kneel down and wrap him in a gentle hug, savoring the clean doggy scent of him as I nuzzle his soft fur. Something at his neck brush against me and I sit back.

He usually wears a collar, but today he’s wearing a black silk ribbon tied in a bow. Dangling at his neck is a small black velvet box. I cradle it in my hands and lose my breath.

I pull it open. Instead of a ring, there’s a folded piece of paper. I open it to find a message inside: Look to your left.

Without thinking, I follow the instructions. My breath catches in my throat.

There, kneeling on one knee, is Isaac, another black velvet box in his upturned hand. I stare at him from where I am next to Buster, who faithfully doesn’t move.

“Buster, you’re relieved,” Isaac says with a hint of amusement in his voice. Buster stands and trots out the door, giving us a moment of privacy.

Good dog.

“Scarlett, I have a question to ask you,” he says.

“You do?” I ask, and I can hardly contain my excitement. Is this happening?

“After having to rescue you several times, I’ve realized that I don’t think I can live my life without you. And I’m starting to think you can’t live without me, either. Be my wife, Scarlett.”

I cross my arms and pretend to glare down at him. “You don’t have to bring up the fact that you’ve saved me in every conversation we have, do you? Can that be part of the marriage deal?”

“You’re really going to bicker with me in the middle of my proposal? Besides, I’m not wrong.”

“You’re not right either. Any good husband knows a happy wife means a happy life.”

“Well, I’ll try to be a good husband while also correcting all your mistakes.”

I laugh and continue to stare down at him, my heart filled with love.

“So, are you going to answer? I do have the rest of the afternoon but I bet we could think of a more useful way to spend that time than this,” he says, and I finally let him off the hook.

“Yes, you dummy. Of course I’ll marry you! How could I not?”

Isaac stands and wraps me in his arms, kissing me deeply. I wrap myself around him, savoring the feel of our bodies perfectly melded together, meant for each other. I wipe an errant tear as he holds my hand to place the sparkling diamond ring on my finger, and I laugh through my tears of joy.

“You were the only thing I remembered,” I coo. It’s one of my favorite memories of him—the fact that he somehow imprinted my soul when my head trauma blotted out everything else.

“I’ll never forget you either. That’s a promise,” Isaac says, and I kiss him again.

“What’s a promise?” I tease, as if I’ve forgotten what we were talking about, and he tugs me toward him, growling against my lips.

“Let me remind you.”

My body ignites at his words, and I grin against his lips, melting into him. Melting into him for the rest of my life.