I picked up the papers. And I tore them in half.

“The first time,” I said, “I married you to keep my daughters safe. This time I’m staying because I love you. Not because I owe you. Because I want to.”

Bruce closed his eyes, and a single tear went down his face, and he pulled me into a kiss as gentle as the first honest thing.

Months later we were married again — a real wedding, this time, on a bluff above the Pacific, with the whole ocean behind us.

Olivia carried the rings, walking very seriously. Erica sang, her voice clear and unafraid, the girl that house had tried to silence filling the whole afternoon with sound.

And Holly, her small chest healed, scattered white petals across the grass, laughing.