Serena

The crunch of gravel beneath tires signals Derek’s return from the firm. It’s half past five. Dinner’s in the oven, and the girls are running around the back yard, chasing butterflies and giggling.

Haven is an amazing big sister to Hadley, and the two of them are inseparable on the best of days. On the worst of days, they bicker like all sisters do, and it’s all we can do to keep from laughing.

He’s so good with them too. He understands them. And he’s patient and wise and tenderhearted. They’re just as lucky to call him their father as I am to call him my husband.

Derek is used to the girl fights, and judging by some of the stories he has about his younger sisters, I can see why.

Me, I love the noise. The chaos. The laughter. The tears. I wouldn’t trade it for anything because this—this is what life is really about.

My husband of four years strides across the lawn of our restored farmhouse, stopping to kiss sweet baby Harper in my arms before kissing the top of my head.

“Hello, my love,” I say. I’m incapable of frowning in his presence, because after all that has happened, Derek Rosewood is still my happiness.

No one has ever fought for me the way he has. He was there through it all. The ups and downs. He stuck by me after the claims against him were substantiated, and he never blamed me once when he received a private reprimand. He was cheering by my side when Veronica pled guilty at her trial and when the judge refused to honor her attorney’s request for a reduced prison sentence. Derek was also there when Veronica left my father after the trial, when she realized she wasn’t getting a single red penny from the estate, and he was there the day my father passed peacefully at a nearby hospice center.

We’re richer than sin. Our accounts are filled with hundreds of millions of dollars—which we intend on mostly giving away. But our love? This beautiful life we’ve created? It’s priceless.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks.

“Lasagna,” I say. “Bliss’s recipe. Demi and Royal are stopping by too. I told Kyla not to come by until after seven. I want Haven to have a good meal before her weekend with her mom.”

Shortly after Derek and I made things official, he pursued full custody of Haven and won. I’d never seen the Rosewoods so happy, but I think the happiest little soul was Haven. She belongs with Derek.

With both of us.

“Appreciated.” He smiles, staring at me like he just won the lottery. But it’s nothing new. He’s been doing it since the day he proposed to me at the Mariposa waterfall over four years ago.

“What?” I ask.

“Why are you so good to me?” Derek leans in, stealing a kiss. I’m sure I taste like red sauce and garlic, but he doesn’t complain.

“Daddy, Daddy!” My red-headed Mini-Me, Hadley, runs up to Derek, breathless, and wraps her three-year-old arms around his legs.

He sets his briefcase on the ground and scoops her up. Her little limbs wrap his neck and she kisses his cheek just as nine-year-old Haven pummels into his side, almost causing Derek to lose his footing.

“Hi, Daddy.” Haven hugs his side, and he ruffles her feathery blonde hair. “We missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby.” He pulls her close, his gaze returning to mine. “I missed all of you.”

“We love you, Daddy.” Haven brushes her face against his suit jacket, beaming a gap-toothed smile.

“I love you too,” he says. “Let’s head in. Go get washed up for dinner. Aunt Demi and Uncle Royal are going to be here soon.”

The sun sets early on this late autumn Friday, painting the sky in warm pinks and oranges and yellows. It wasn’t until I moved to the country that I earned a newfound appreciation for sunsets.

I’ve realized, over the past five years, that there were many things I’d missed out on in my life. The smell of rain on country grass. The burst of unobstructed sunlight filtering through shades early in the morning. Leisurely strolls and neighborly waves. Cooking delicious meals from scratch because it’s more convenient than ordering takeout from a trendy restaurant with a two-hour wait.

Derek’s arm hooks into my elbow, and he stops me to steal a quick kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, his lips against mine.

“I love you more.”

The five of us file inside, where our snoring pug, Munch, sleeps in his bed by the fireplace. The kitchen is scented with my sweet mother-in-law’s lasagna, and the girls impatiently take their places as Derek gently places a very sleepy Harper in her bassinette.

Demi and Royal pull up just in time, and the girls leave the table and run to the door to greet them with giggles and squeals. They can hardly wrap their arms around Demi’s swelling belly with her due date just around the corner. They’re expecting a little boy any day now, and they’re planning to call him Beckett, and the girls have been having a blast picking out plush frogs and blue onesies for Demi’s baby shower next weekend.

The timer on the stove beeps, and I tend to dinner while everyone settles in.

This is my life now.

I’m in love with every beautiful, challenging, imperfect moment of it.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the entire world.