Chapter 14 - THE LAST THING MY MOTHER KNEW
I opened Mom’s final letter sitting on the kitchen floor.
Dominic sat beside me.
Not across from me.
Not standing protectively in a doorway.
Beside me.
Exactly where I wanted him.
Elena,
You will probably be angry that I hid so much.
Correct.
If you found everything, then I hope you also found the truth about Dominic.
I looked at him.
He looked suspiciously interested in the wall.
Mom continued.
When you were twelve, you woke after the fire and asked me whether “the tall boy with the angry eyebrows” was okay.
I laughed.
Dominic frowned.
“I did not have angry eyebrows.”
“You absolutely have angry eyebrows.”
I kept reading.
You asked about him for weeks.
I nearly took you back to Montrose.
Then I became afraid.
That is the choice I regret most.
Maybe you would have been safer far away.
Maybe not.
Mothers make imperfect choices while trying to love perfectly.
My eyes blurred.
Then came the final paragraph.
If life ever brings you back to that kitchen, remember something for me.
A home is not the most expensive house.
It is not the safest lock.
It is the place where someone notices you are hungry.
I stopped.
Dominic looked at the paper.
Then at me.
His eyes had gone suspiciously bright.
“That’s unfair,” I whispered.
“What?”
“She knew.”
“Knew what?”
I looked at him.
“That asking if you were hungry would ruin my life.”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
The six-foot-four terrifying Dominic Vale leaned against an unfinished cabinet and laughed until I started laughing too.
Then he reached into his pocket.
I immediately stopped.
“No.”
His hand froze.
“Elena.”
“Is that a ring?”
“Yes.”
“You were going to propose while I’m covered in drywall dust?”
“I had a different plan.”
“What plan?”
“Dinner.”
“Predictable.”
“Candles.”
“Worse.”
“Frank was supposed to keep you away from the construction site.”
“Frank is afraid of me.”
“He is.”
I stared at Dominic.
Then at the ring.
Then at the man who once believed no woman could look at his face without seeing damage.
“Ask me.”
He stood.
I stood too.
“No kneeling.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“Why?”
“You’re six-four. Getting back up will ruin the mood.”
“I’m forty-one, not eighty.”
“Still.”
He shook his head.
Then took my hand.
“Elena Brooks.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
His mouth twitched.
“You’re supposed to let me finish.”
“Sorry.”
“You aren’t.”
“No.”
He took a breath.
“Will you marry me?”
I looked at his scar.
His ridiculous eyebrows.
His terrible groceries.
His impossible need to control everything.
And the quiet kindness he tried desperately to hide.
“Yes.”
His expression changed in a way I would remember forever.
Not victory.
Relief.
Wonder.
I kissed him first.
Then someone began applauding behind us.
We turned.
Frank.
Julian.
Marcy.
Half the construction crew.
Dominic stared at them.
“You were supposed to wait outside.”
Frank shrugged.
“Elena said yes. Seemed safe.”
I pointed at him.
“Barely.”
Everyone laughed.
But later that night, after the house emptied, Dominic showed me something he had been keeping for months.
The old photograph of Mom, Lucia, Dominic, and twelve-year-old me.
May you like
On the back, beneath Lucia’s handwriting, my mother had written one final line:
Maybe someday these two impossible children will teach each other what home means.
