Her relationship with Annie was handled carefully.
No one rushed the child.
No one forced her to choose one adult over another.
The arrangements required patience.
Professional guidance.
And an understanding that a child's safety mattered more than any adult's pride.
I was relieved.
Because I had begun loving Annie.
Not as a replacement for her mother.
Not as a prize for my husband.
Simply as the little girl who asked whether she could eat chicken after hiding hungry behind our stove.
One evening in August, William and I sat on the porch.
The mountains glowed golden in the setting sun.
The creek moved softly through the valley.
Annie was inside drawing pictures at the kitchen table.
I leaned against my husband's shoulder.
He wrapped one arm around me.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then he looked down.
"Rose."
"Hmm?"
"Do you regret marrying me?"
I sat upright.
"What?"
He looked toward the mountains.
"All this trouble."
I stared.
He continued.
"The secrets. The mine. My daughter. Everything."
I took his face between my hands.
"William."
He looked at me.
"I married a man who was kind to me when the world had spent years teaching me to expect cruelty."
His eyes softened.
I continued.
"I married a man who never asked me to become smaller before he could love me."
Tears filled his eyes.
I smiled.
"And now I have a little girl who thinks my dumplings are magic."
He laughed softly.
I leaned closer.
"Do I wish you'd told me everything sooner?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
His expression tightened.
I continued.
"Do I wish none of this had frightened us?"
"Yes."
I kissed his forehead.
"But do I regret loving you?"
He stared.
I smiled through tears.
"Not for a single day."
He drew me into his arms.
Held me tightly.
Then whispered, "I don't deserve you."
I laughed softly.
"Then stop talking nonsense and keep being a good husband."
He burst out laughing.
I laughed too.
From inside the cabin, Annie called, "Papa! Rose! Come see!"
We turned.
She stood in the doorway holding a drawing.
Three figures.
A tall man.
A large woman in a blue dress.
A little girl between them.
Behind them was our cabin.
Smoke rose from the chimney.
A horse stood near the barn.
And above the picture, in uneven letters, she had written:
HOME.
William stared.
His eyes filled.
I covered my mouth.
Annie looked nervous.
"Do you like it?"
William knelt.
He opened his arms.
The little girl ran toward him.
He hugged her.