Chapter 10 - Where The Wildflowers Grow
Three years later.
The summer breeze coming off Lake Superior carried the sweet scent of wild pine and blooming lupines.
From the wide wooden porch of our timber-frame home outside Thunder Bay, I could see the blue expanse of the lake stretching to the horizon. Sophie, now a lively three-year-old with bouncy dark curls and a laugh that could brighten the darkest room, was running through the grass, chasing a yellow butterfly with fierce determination.
""Daddy, look! It's flying to the water!"" she squealed, her little rubber boots thumping against the soft earth.
""Stay back from the rocky edge, sweetheart!"" a voice called out from the garden.
Roman walked out from behind the raised vegetable beds, carrying a wooden basket filled with fresh heirloom tomatoes and snap peas. He wore a simple denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms browned by the northern sun.
There were silver threads running through his thick dark hair now, and laugh lines etched around his eyes that had never existed during his reign in Milwaukee. He had traded boardrooms and tactical maps for a small local boat-restoration business, spending his days working with oak, teak, and brass.
He walked over to Sophie, crouching down in the grass to meet her at eye level.
""Look at this one, Soph,"" he said gently, holding out a sweet red cherry tomato. ""Grown right here in our soil. Want to try it?""
Sophie popped it into her mouth, her eyes lighting up. ""Sweet!""
""Just like you,"" Roman laughed, scooping her up onto his shoulders. Sophie giggled, burying her hands into his hair as he carried her up the porch steps toward me.
Roman set her down on the porch swing, kissing the top of her head before turning to me. He leaned in and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to my lips. His touch was no longer hurried or distracted; it was deliberate, attentive, and grounded in profound gratitude.
""How’s the new ledger looking?"" he asked, nodding toward my laptop on the patio table.
""Vincent’s logistics network had its highest-grossing quarter yet,"" I smiled, closing the screen. ""Clean, transparent, and completely above board. He’s visiting next weekend with his family.""
Roman rested his hands on the wooden railing, looking out over the calm waters of the lake.
""Sometimes,"" he said quietly, ""I think about that night in November. The rain on the glass. The empty crib. I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about what I almost threw away.""
I stood up, walked over beside him, and slipped my hand into his. His fingers closed tightly around mine—calloused from manual work, steady, and warm.
""You had to lose that world, Roman, to realize you were living in a cage,"" I said softly.
He turned to look at me, his eyes filled with an unspoken devotion that had been proven through three years of quiet, honest mornings, through every scraped knee he had bandaged, and every night he had put Sophie to sleep without ever looking away.
""You saved my life that night, Aaron,"" he whispered, bringing my knuckles to his lips. ""You took everything away so I could finally learn what was real.""
From the swing, Sophie started singing a cheerful, nonsensical nursery rhyme she had learned at the village preschool. Roman smiled, the deep lines around his eyes crinkling in the afternoon sun.
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He wasn't a boss. He wasn't a legend of the underworld.
He was simply a father, standing on the porch of the home he had earned with his own hands, holding the woman he loved while their daughter’s laughter echoed across the quiet, endless blue of the lake."
