At my sister’s baby shower, she laughed and said, “Still single, sweetheart?” Mom added, “Becky’s having her first baby!” I stayed quiet. Then a man holding a child said, “I’m Carole’s husband.” The whole room froze.

Six months passed. The leaves turned, and snow fell. I spent Christmas with Nathan and Emma. My parents, seeing how happy I was—not because I had a man, but because I was loved—finally began to back off.

One spring evening, Nathan and I were weeding the butterfly garden. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the yard.

“Have you thought about moving in?” Nathan asked casually, pulling a dandelion.

“Are you asking me to move in?”

“I’m asking if you’ve thought about it.” He paused. “Emma asks every day.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think I don’t want to live in a house that doesn’t have you in it.”

I stopped working. “Is that a proposal?”

“No,” he stood up, wiping the dirt from his knees. “This is.”

He reached into his pocket—not for a handkerchief this time, but for a small velvet box. Emma burst out the back door, unable to contain her excitement any longer.

“Did you ask her yet, Daddy?”

Nathan laughed, dropping to one knee. “I’m trying, kiddo.” He opened the box to reveal a vintage emerald ring—unique, bold, and totally me.

“Cassie, I love you. Emma loves you. We don’t want you to fill a void; we want you to build a new wing on the house with us. Will you marry us?”

I looked at the man who had seen me at my lowest and offered me a handkerchief. I looked at the little girl who had found me in the garden.

“Yes,” I choked out. “Yes to both of you.”