Chapter 10 - One Year Later
October returned to the Rockies, setting the aspens on the hillsides blazing in brilliant shades of gold, amber, and flame.
On the evening of October 21, 2024—exactly one year to the day since the disaster at the Ashford Depot—the backyard of our new home in Littleton was filled with laughter, the smell of smoked brisket, and the warm flicker of Edison bulbs strung between two towering blue spruces.
There were no microphones.
There were no sixteen-foot LED screens.
There were no color-coordinated bridesmaid dresses that people had spent ten months complaining about.
Just thirty people: Gavin’s family, our closest friends, Pippa, and my father, who was currently standing by the smoker with a pair of tongs, happily debating the merits of hickory versus applewood with Gavin’s dad.
Sitting at the picnic table near the patio was Drew.
He looked fantastic. He had rebranded the company to *Shaw Structural Solutions*, had bought out the remaining debts, and had landed a massive municipal contract to design the new pedestrian bridges across the South Platte River. Across from him sat Pippa, laughing heartily at something he said. Over the last four months, Drew and Pippa had begun running five-kilometer races together on Saturday mornings. It was early, unhurried, and entirely their own, but the lightness in Drew’s eyes told me everything I needed to know about his recovery.
Fay had moved to a small, two-bedroom garden apartment in Aurora. She had given birth to a baby boy in April. From what Aunt Clara told me, Nadine had moved into the apartment with her to help raise the baby, and the two of them spent their days locked in a bitter, claustrophobic loop of mutual blame and financial anxiety.
I hadn't received a call from either of them in nine months.
The silence wasn't a punishment; it was peace.
Gavin walked up behind me on the patio, wrapping both arms around my waist and pulling me back against his chest. His hands dropped to rest over my stomach, where beneath the soft wool of my cream sweater, a tiny, undeniable curve was beginning to show.
Sixteen weeks.
We had found out in July. We hadn't rushed to tell social media. We hadn't formatted a slide deck. We hadn't hired a technician.
“Is it time?” Gavin whispered, kissing the crown of my head.
“It’s time,” I smiled.
Gavin reached out with his beer bottle and gently tapped the side of my sparkling cider glass.
*Clink.*
The conversation around the yard naturally quieted. Harvey turned from the smoker, wiping his hands on an apron. Drew looked up from the bench, smiling warmly.
“Hey, everyone,” Gavin said, raising his bottle. “Iris and I just wanted to thank you all for coming out to celebrate our first anniversary. One year ago tonight, our reception didn't go quite according to the printed schedule.”
A chorus of easy, affectionate chuckles rippled through the yard.
“We learned a lot that night,” Gavin continued, looking down at me with eyes full of quiet, fierce devotion. “We learned that family isn't about blood, and it isn't about appearances. It’s about who shows up when the lights go out. It’s about honesty, respect, and having people in your corner who would never dream of stealing your joy.”
Gavin looked at me and nodded.
I smiled, stepping forward into the warm circle of our friends and family.
I didn't produce an ultrasound. I didn't make a speech designed to shock or overpower anyone.
“Next April,” I said simply, my voice carrying clear across the autumn air, “we’re adding one more chair to the dinner table.”
For three seconds, the yard was dead quiet.
Then Harvey dropped his tongs directly onto the grass.
He didn't care about the brisket. He didn't care about the apron. My father crossed the lawn in five long strides and caught me in an embrace so fierce, so tight, that my feet left the ground.
“A baby,” Harvey choked out into my shoulder, his tears soaking into my sweater. “My girl. My sweet girl.”
Drew was on his feet, clapping with both hands above his head, whistling until the neighbors’ dogs barked. Gavin’s mother was weeping tears of pure joy, pulling Gavin into a hug, while Pippa squealed and tackled both of us from the side.
The yard exploded into celebration—not because someone had commanded them to look at a screen, not because someone had demanded attention, but because love, when it is real, honest, and unforced, doesn't need a production.
It only needs the truth.
As the sun sank behind the dark silhouette of the Rockies, painting the autumn sky in shades of copper, violet, and gold, I stood in the warmth of the patio lights surrounded by the people who truly loved us.
May you like
The microphone was gone. The stage was gone.
And for the first time in my life, every single person in the room was looking at me—not out of shock, not out of pity, but with pure, unyielding love.
