"For fighting for us. For fighting for Tommy. For making me believe that love can win against money and connections and all the Derek Morrisons of the world."
"Love doesn't just win, sweetheart. Love conquers. Love claims. Love protects what's precious and destroys anything that tries to hurt it." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "And I love you and Tommy more than anything in this world."
"More than your job?" She teases.
"More than my job."
"More than your brothers?"
"More than my brothers, though, don't tell them I said that."
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "More than your truck?"
"Definitely more than my truck. Though that's a really nice truck."
"Good to know where I rank."
"You rank first, Lisa. In everything. Always." I tighten my arms around her, hold her close. "You and Tommy are my priority, my purpose, my reason for getting up in the morning."
She's quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is thick with emotion.
"I never thought I could have this. A real marriage, a real family, a man who loves me the way you do." She lifts her head to look at me. "I thought that kind of happiness was for other people."
"It's for you too. It's for us." I brush her hair back from her face. "And this is just the beginning. We have years ahead of us, decades of mornings like this, of Tommy growing up surrounded by love, of building a life together."
"I can't wait."
"Neither can I."
As we drift off to sleep in each other's arms, I make a silent promise to Emma, wherever she is. I promise to love her son like my own, to give him the life she dreamed of, to make sure he never doubts how much he's wanted and cherished.
And I promise to love her sister with everything I have, to protect the family we've built, to spend every day proving that some things are worth fighting for.
That love really can conquer everything.
Even Derek Morrison and his expensive lawyers and his blood money.
Love wins.
We win.
And this is just the beginning of forever.
EPILOGUE
LISA
Two Years Later
"Mama, up!"Tommy's voice carries across the backyard where he's been "helping" Sawyer build a new chicken coop, his little hands covered in sawdust and his dark hair sticking up in every direction.
My two-year-old son runs toward me with the determined waddle of a toddler who has places to be and people to see, his overalls already dirty from his morning adventures. He's talking constantly now, a steady stream of observations and demands and the kind of logic that only makes sense to someone who's just figured out that words have power.
"Up, Mama!" He reaches me and lifts his arms, confident that I'll drop everything to pick him up. Which, of course, I do.
"What are you and Daddy building out there?" I ask, settling him on my hip and breathing in that sweet smell of baby shampoo and outdoor adventures that always clings to him.
"Chicken house!" he announces proudly. "For eggs!"
