Barefoot except for one pink sock, clutching a stuffed rabbit beneath one arm, Maisie crossed the rain-dark grass behind the DeLuca estate and stopped in front of the old garden shed.

Three months later.

The morning sun broke over a sprawling, private estate in coastal Maine. The ocean waves crashed gently against the cliffside rocks below a beautiful, newly built stone manor with wide glass windows overlooking the sea.

Nora stood on the sunlit back porch, wearing a soft white sweater, holding a steaming mug of coffee.

The air was crisp, clean, and entirely free from the smell of smoke.

In the manicured green yard below, a tiny girl in bright yellow rain boots was chasing a golden retriever puppy through the grass. Maisie was laughing hysterically, her pink sock—now accompanied by matching pink boots—flashing in the sunlight.

Behind Nora, soft footsteps sounded on the wooden deck.

Roman walked out, wearing a casual gray sweater and trousers. The hard, icy edge that had defined him for a decade was gone, replaced by a deep, calm peace.

He wrapped his large arms around Nora’s waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest, and rested his chin gently on her shoulder.

Nora smiled, leaning back into his warmth. “She’s going to wear that puppy out.”

“The puppy asked for it,” Roman murmured, his voice low and affectionate.

Nora turned in his arms, facing him. She reached up, her thumb gently tracing the faint, fading burn scar on his wrist—the permanent mark of the night their lives changed forever.

“All the paperwork came through yesterday,” Nora said softly. “The legal team wiped my old records. Maisie and I officially exist only as Nora and Maisie DeLuca.”

Roman looked into her green eyes, his heart full. “You didn’t have to take my name, Nora.”

“I wanted to,” she said, her voice fiercely certain. “Because you gave us a home, Roman. You gave us a future.”

Roman shook his head gently. “You gave me a life, Nora. I was a dead man walking through a cold world until a brave little girl dragged a garden hose through a fire… and her mother stood between me and the flames.”

From the yard below, Maisie’s loud voice broke their quiet moment.

“Mr. Roman! Mommy! Look!”

They both turned to look over the railing.

Maisie was standing near a flowerbed, holding up a bright red garden hose attached to a newly installed brass valve. She had a massive, proud grin on her face.

“I found the wheel!” Maisie shouted happily. “Can I turn it?”