Page 125 of The Silence Between

“It's going to be strange,” I admitted. “The house with just us once Sophie heads to college in the fall.”

“Strange but not bad,” Ethan suggested. “Different phase, that's all. And you know she'll be bringing her laundry home every other weekend.”

I nodded, tracing the semicolon tattoo on my wrist with my free hand. The gesture had become almost meditative over the years, a physical reminder of how far I'd come. Lately, I'd been thinking about adding to it, not covering or changing the original, but expanding its meaning.

“I've been considering adding to this,” I said, lifting my wrist slightly. “Maybe a small infinity symbol, connecting to the semicolon.”

Ethan turned to look at me, his expression thoughtful even in the dim porch light. “The continuing journey?”

“Yeah. Because it didn't end with surviving the crisis, or even with recovery. It's ongoing. Infinite possibilities rather than just continuing the same sentence.”

He ran his thumb over the tattoo, the gentle touch sending warmth through my entire body. After all these years, his touch still affected me that way, a miracle I tried never to take for granted.

“I like it,” he said simply. “It fits.”

That was Ethan, understanding the layers of meaning without needing them spelled out, recognizing the significance without making it heavier than it needed to be. He'd been that way since the beginning, seeing me clearly even when I couldn't see myself.

His hand remained over mine, the semicolon pressed between our palms like a shared secret. From inside came the sounds of our adult family: Sophie's editing software running as she worked on her latest project, Diego on a video call with friends discussing post-graduation plans, the ordinary soundtrack of lives unfolding.

We'd come so far from that desperate night on the bridge. Further still from those early days of recovery, when each step forward felt tenuous and fragile. The journey hadn't ended with leaving the hospital, or with stabilizing our family situation, or with graduating college, or with moving in together. It continued, day by day, moment by moment, choice by choice.

Suddenly, Ethan stood up, pulling me with him. “Let's walk down to the end of the yard,” he said, his voice containing an unusual note I couldn't quite place.

“Now? It's dark,” I said, confused but allowing myself to be led across the lawn toward the small garden we'd started at the property line.

“It's a clear night. Perfect for stargazing,” he replied, a slight tremor in his words that sparked my curiosity.

The garden was little more than a few raised beds and a simple wooden bench we'd installed last weekend, but in the moonlight, it felt like a secret world apart from the house. Fairy lights twinkled along the fence, illuminating the space with a soft glow that I didn't remember setting up.

“Did you do this?” I asked, gesturing at the lights that created a canopy of stars above the bench.

Ethan nodded, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “With Sophie's help this afternoon. She said the lighting was important for, and I quote, 'the aesthetic of the moment.'”

“What moment?” I asked, but as the words left my mouth, Ethan took both my hands in his and sank down onto one knee before me.

The world seemed to pause, all sound suspended except for the wild pounding of my heart.

“Leo,” he began, his voice steady despite the visible tremor in his hands. “Five years ago, I found you on that bridge, and ever since, we've been building a life together I never could have imagined. Not perfect, not easy, but real and true and ours.”

I couldn't speak, could hardly breathe as he continued.

“You taught me what courage looks like. Not fearlessness, but facing fear and choosing life anyway. You showed me what family means, not just by blood but by choice and commitment and showing up every day. You helped me understand that love isn't a rescue mission but a partnership, where we both save each other in a thousand small ways.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box, hand-carved with what looked like constellations across its surface. Inside, nestled against dark fabric, was a silver ring with an intricate pattern that caught the fairy lights.

“I don't know what the future holds, but I know I want to face it with you. The good days and the hard ones. The celebrations and the ordinary Tuesdays. The infinite possibilities of all our tomorrows.” His voice broke slightly on the last word. “Leo Reyes, will you marry me?”

Time seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously. In that moment, I saw everything: the scared, desperate kid on the bridge; the broken patient in the hospital; the struggling guardian trying to hold a family together; the student finding his way back to himself; the writer discovering his voice; and now this man, loved and in love, standing at the threshold of yet another beginning.

“Yes,” I whispered, then louder, “Yes.” My vision blurred with tears as Ethan slipped the ring onto my finger. I pulled him to his feet and into my arms, our embrace saying everything words couldn't contain.

The ring caught the light as I cupped his face in my hands. Upon closer inspection, I could see that the pattern wasn't random but intentional: a semicolon flowing into an infinity symbol, the very design I'd been contemplating for my tattoo.

“How did you know?” I asked, voice thick with emotion.

Ethan smiled, pressing his forehead against mine. “You mentioned it a few months ago, just in passing. I thought it was perfect, this idea that our story doesn't end, it just keeps evolving. That's what I want with you, Leo. Not just a continuation, but infinite possibilities.”

From the direction of the house came a sudden eruption of cheers and applause. I looked up to see Sophie, Diego, and Mari standing on the back porch, glasses raised in our direction. Sophie was filming, of course, her camera catching the moment for posterity.

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