Chapter 153
Chapter 153
Three months passed.
Rhys started seeing Dr. Eleanor Voss, a child psychologist who specialized in attachment disorders. The sessions were twice a week. Progress was glacial.
But it was progress.
The first breakthrough came in week four, when Rhys voluntarily gave Yara a cookie at snack time without being prompted. A cookie. Such a small thing. Cordelia nearly cried.
The second breakthrough came in week eight. Yara fell and scraped her knee at the park. Instead of ignoring her—or, worse, looking satisfied—Rhys had gone to find Cordelia. "Yara's hurt," he said, tugging her hand. "She needs a Band-Aid."
Not warmth, exactly. But the absence of cruelty. And right now, that was enough.
The two children settled into a wary coexistence. Not siblings. Not friends. More like reluctant roommates who'd silently agreed to a ceasefire.
Cordelia would take it.
---
Her own recovery moved faster.
The burns on her hands faded to pale, silvery scars—barely visible unless you knew where to look. Her voice returned fully, though it carried a permanent rasp now. A souvenir from the fire.
She wrapped up filming. The show aired to strong ratings. Sherry fielded a flood of new offers.
"Take a break first," Cordelia told her. "I need to breathe."
She'd spent so long fighting—fighting Nathan, fighting Bianca, fighting fires both literal and figurative—that the sudden peace felt almost disorienting.
Logan noticed. Of course he did.
"You've got that look again," he said one evening, leaning against the kitchen counter while she chopped vegetables.
"What look?"
"The one where you're waiting for the other shoe to drop."
Cordelia set the knife down. He knew her too well.
"Old habit," she admitted. "I keep expecting something terrible to happen."
Logan crossed the kitchen, took the knife from her hand, and replaced it with his own fingers. "Nothing terrible is going to happen. I won't let it."
She looked up at him—this man who'd caught her when she stumbled, shielded her from scalding water, charged into a burning building for her. Who'd rearranged his entire life around her comfort without once making her feel like a burden.
"I know," she said softly. "I'm working on it."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
---
Wrap day.
The final scene was in the can. The crew erupted in applause. Cordelia hugged her co-stars, thanked the director, and posed for the obligatory group photos.
When she walked out of the studio, Logan was leaning against his car in the parking lot.
"Congratulations," he said, opening the passenger door.
She slid in and kicked off her shoes with a groan. "Take me home. I want to sleep for a week."
"Soon." He started the engine. "One stop first."
"Logan, I'm exhausted—"
"Trust me."
She eyed him suspiciously. He was trying too hard to look casual.
They drove in comfortable silence. Twenty minutes later, the city gave way to coastline. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
Logan pulled into a small parking lot overlooking the beach. "We're here."
Cordelia stepped out—and froze.
The beach was lined with candles. Hundreds of them, nestled in glass holders, forming a glowing path from the parking lot to the old wooden pier that stretched out over the water.
"Logan..."
"Come on." He took her hand.
They walked the candlelit path in silence. The ocean murmured beside them. The last light of day caught the waves and turned them to liquid gold.
At the end of the pier, Logan stopped.
He turned to face her. The wind ruffled his hair. His green eyes held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Cordelia."
Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it.
"I'm not good at speeches. You know that." A self-deprecating smile flickered across his lips. "I had this whole thing written out. Fox helped me. It was very eloquent."
"And?"
"And I forgot every word the second I looked at you."
She laughed—a breathless, shaky sound.
His expression sobered. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
"So I'll just say what's true." His voice dropped low. "From the first moment I saw you, something in me knew. I didn't have a name for it then. But I know now."
He opened the box. Inside sat a ring—a single diamond, clear and brilliant, set in a simple platinum band. No ostentation. No excess. Just light, captured and held.
"I missed your past. I'll never forgive myself for that. But I'm here now. And I'm asking you—let me have your future."
He lowered himself to one knee.
"Marry me. Let me spend the rest of my life proving that you deserve to be loved well."
Cordelia looked at the ring. At his face. At the ocean stretching endlessly behind him.
And then—
A flash. Blinding white.
Rain. A man's silhouette. He turned toward her, lips moving, but the words were swallowed by the storm.
Pain lanced through her skull. She gasped and pressed her palm to her temple.
"Cordelia?" Logan was on his feet instantly, hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong? Talk to me."
The image dissolved. The pain ebbed as quickly as it had come.
She blinked. Logan's worried face swam back into focus.
"I'm fine," she breathed. "I just—I think I remembered something."
"Remembered what?"
She shook her head slowly. The details were already fading, like a dream upon waking. "I don't know. Not yet."
But it didn't matter. Not right now. Not with this man kneeling before her, holding a ring and his heart in the same trembling hand.
She looked into his eyes—those steady, warm, impossibly green eyes—and felt every wall she'd built over the past year dissolve like sugar in rain.
"Yes," she whispered.
Logan blinked. "Yes?"
"Yes, you idiot. I'll marry you."
The grin that split his face was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. He slid the ring onto her finger, stood, and kissed her.
The ocean roared its approval. The candles flickered and held.
---
From behind a cluster of rocks near the parking lot, Kaida was filming the entire thing on her phone, tears streaming down her face.
"Are you getting this?" Sherry hissed beside her, dabbing her own eyes with a tissue.
"Every second," Kaida sobbed. "This is going straight into the wedding slideshow."
Further down the beach, two small figures stood side by side at the water's edge.
Rhys watched the couple on the pier. His expression was still—not cold, not calculating. Just... thoughtful.
Yara stood beside him, her eyes bright with reflected candlelight.
After a long silence, Rhys spoke. "Your mom looks happy."
Yara glanced at him, startled by the softness in his voice. "Yeah. She does."
Another pause. Then Rhys reached out and touched Yara's hand. Barely a brush of fingers. He didn't look at her.
"She smiles different when she's with your dad than when she's with mine."
Yara frowned. "What do you mean?"
"With your dad, she looked tired. Like she was always bracing for something bad." He paused. "With my dad, she just... looks like herself."
Yara didn't know what to say to that. So she said nothing.
They stood there together, two children born from different wreckages, watching the candlelight dance across the water.
Rhys withdrew his hand. "Your collage. The one I ruined."
Yara stiffened.
"I'm sorry," he said. The words came out stiff and unpracticed, like a language he was still learning. "Dr. Voss says I should tell you that."
"Dr. Voss says, or you want to?"
He was quiet for a long time.
"Both," he admitted.
Yara studied his profile—sharp little jaw, serious eyes, that permanent furrow between his brows that made him look like a tiny, grumpy old man.
"Okay," she said. "I'll make a new one. You can be in it too. If you want."
His head turned slightly. Not enough to look at her directly. "Whatever. I don't care."
But the corner of his mouth twitched.
---
That night, Cordelia lay in bed staring at the ring on her finger.
The flash of memory kept resurfacing. Rain. A silhouette. Lips moving without sound.
She picked up her phone, hesitated, then typed a message to her neurologist.
[I think my memories are starting to come back.]
She hit send, set the phone down, and closed her eyes.
Whatever she remembered—whatever the past held—she wasn't afraid of it anymore.
She had Logan. She had the children. She had a future worth waking up for.
The past could wait.