A year later, Daniel proposed in Megan’s small apartment, surrounded by drawings and mismatched socks.
“I don’t want to be temporary,” he said on one knee. “I want to choose you—and them—every day. For real.”
“Yes,” Megan said through tears.
The girls screamed so loudly the neighbor knocked on the wall.
Their wedding was simple. When the officiant asked for objections, Harper raised her hand.
“I object to not having vows too.”
So the promises were made by five voices, not two.
Months later, Megan walked into the kitchen holding a pregnancy test, hands shaking.
“We’re having a baby.”
The girls erupted with plans and rules and arguments about who would teach the baby what.
Daniel held Megan and thought of that first night—cold coffee, keys in hand, ready to leave. Three little voices asking him to pretend.
He hadn’t been pretending for a long time.
Now it was real—a family built from loss and courage, with Hannah’s letter kept safely in a drawer and her memory honored not as a shadow, but as the love that had taught him how to begin again.
