Chapter 10 - The Garden We Built
Six months later.
The coastal breeze swept across the backyard of our home on Sullivan’s Island, rustling the palmetto trees and carrying the joyful, unrestrained laughter of children across the green lawn.
It was Lucy’s fifth birthday.
The yard was decorated with pastel balloons, ribbons, and a giant wooden swing that Owen had spent three weekends building with his own hands. A dozen children from Lucy’s kindergarten class were chasing bubbles across the grass, while our friends and family sat beneath the broad shade of the pergola, sipping iced sweet tea and laughing.
I stood by the outdoor kitchen, watching Lucy race across the grass in a bright yellow sundress, her face covered in strawberry frosting, clutching the same velvet rabbit that had journeyed with us through the storm.
“Mommy! Look! Daddy pushed me so high I touched the sky!” Lucy squealed, running up to me and wrapping her sticky little arms around my knees.
I laughed, bending down and scooping her up into my arms, kissing her messy cheek. “Did you touch the clouds, too?”
“Almost!” she giggled, pointing back toward the swing, where Owen was walking toward us with a huge grin on his face, holding two glasses of lemonade.
“She’s exaggerating,” Owen said, handing me a glass and kissing my cheek. “Her feet were at least three inches below the clouds.”
“Daddy!” Lucy protested, burying her face in my shoulder, causing Owen to laugh that rich, warm laugh that always made our house feel entirely full.
My phone, resting on the granite counter beside the grill, lit up with a notification.
It was a news alert from the *Charleston Business Journal*.
I glanced at it.
*FEDERAL PRISON SENTENCE BEGINS FOR FORMER LOGISTICS CEO DREW HALSTON FOLLOWING GUILTY PLEA IN MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR FRAUD SCHEME.*
Beneath the headline was a small mugshot. Drew’s expensive haircut was gone, buzzed short. His Tom Ford suit was replaced by an orange prison jumpsuit. His face was hollow, aged ten years, stripped of every ounce of that smug, condescending vanity that had once made me feel so terribly small.
I stared at the image for exactly three seconds.
There was no anger. No bitterness. Not even a sense of vindictive triumph.
There was only nothing.
The man who had told me that leaving me was his smartest decision had finally become what he had always been underneath the borrowed money and stolen ideas: an empty shell.
“Everything okay?” Owen asked softly, his hand coming to rest warm and protective against the small of my back.
I turned the phone face down on the counter.
“Everything is perfect,” I said, looking up at him.
Lucy squirmed in my arms. “Can I have more cake, Mommy? Daddy said if you say yes, I can have the piece with the big sugar flower!”
I looked at Owen, who gave me a guilty, boyish shrug.
“Just this once,” I said, setting Lucy down on the grass. “Go tell Aunt Sarah to cut it for you!”
“Yay!” Lucy took off like a shot, her yellow dress fluttering like a butterfly as she raced across the sun-drenched lawn toward the patio.
Owen pulled me close, his arms wrapping around my waist, his forehead resting gently against mine. The afternoon sun bathed us in warm, golden light, and the scent of jasmine and ocean air filled my lungs.
“I love you, Maren,” he whispered.
“I love you, Owen,” I replied, leaning in and kissing him with all the joy, peace, and absolute freedom of a woman who had walked through the fire and built a paradise on the other side.
Drew Halston had thought leaving me was his smartest decision.
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He was right.
Because if he hadn't left, I never would have found the man who showed me what it truly meant to be loved—and I never would have discovered that I was always strong enough to stand on my own.
