Chapter 10 - UNDER THE PECAN TREE
The wedding day arrived on a crisp, golden October afternoon. The South Austin air was cool enough for light jackets, and the sky overhead was a brilliant, cloudless Texas blue.
Our brick patio had been fully resurfaced, smooth and level, with the animal-paw stepping stones winding gracefully toward the garden fence. Beneath the sprawling pecan tree, fairy lights were strung through the branches, glowing softly against the fading daylight.
There were no twenty distant relatives who barely knew us, and no stiff corporate acquaintances from Claire’s office. Just thirty of our closest family members and friends—people who knew our scars, our history, and our healing.
Claire looked breathtaking in a simple bohemian lace dress, her hair braided with small white wildflowers. But what caught everyone’s attention was the little flower girl walking ahead of her. Harper wore a yellow sundress, and pinned carefully to the sash was a small, delicate paper flower—an exact replica of the one Rosie had held in the old photograph.
And standing tall beside the wooden altar, wearing a sharp navy suit with a white rose pinned to his lapel, was Mason.
As Grant waited beneath the pecan tree, he looked out across the gathering, catching my eye in the front row. He gave me a small, steady nod—the nod of a man who had finally learned that you don't have to erase your past to build your future.
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When Claire reached the altar, Grant didn't just take her hand. He reached back and pulled Mason into the circle, wrapping one arm around his son and the other around his new bride.
As the sun dipped below the Austin horizon, bathing the backyard in warm amber light, I knew Rosie was there too—smiling down from the branches of the old pecan tree, keeping the promise that love, once rooted, never truly dies.
