CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The mirror reflected a woman Rachel barely recognized. Sheathed in ivory lace, the wedding dress draped over her like a prophecy fulfilled, its intricate patterns hugging her form with an almost supernatural grace. Grandma Tate's taste had been impeccable; even now, Rachel could hear her saying, "Just let me pick the damned thing out; you know you've always hated dresses."
So that's what they'd done. A mere twelve days before Grandma Tate had died, she'd gone out to choose this very dress.
"God, I wish you were here, Grandma."
A smile tugged at the corner of Rachel's mouth, though it wavered as her gaze dropped to the bandage swathing her arm—a reminder of the tendon repair that followed her fight with Alice twelve days ago.
"Matches the dress," she murmured, the joke hollow in the quiet room, the laughter not quite reaching her eyes. The bandaging was a testament of sorts—not to victimhood, but to survival, to the fight that had brought her here, to this precipice of joy and solemn vows.
A knock rapped sharply against the door, punctuating the stillness. Rachel turned from her reflection as the door eased open, revealing Paige in miniature elegance. Her daughter's dress, festooned with ribbons and soft frills, made her look a bit older, a little more refined than usual. Her hair had been done up in elegant curls, and she wasn't sure she'd ever seen her daughter more beautiful.
"The pastor guy says it's time," Paige announced, her voice carrying the gravity of her role in this intimate ceremony.
Rachel drew in a breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon her shoulders. It was time to step forward, to embrace the future she'd fought tooth and nail to secure. The tears that welled in her eyes were a cocktail of sorrow for what had passed, and gratitude for the presence that stood before her—a young girl who had become her beacon through the darkest times.
"Hey, Mom? Can I…can I say something?"
"Of course." She walked to Paige and sat down on a small bench by the door, taking her daughter's hand in her own. "What is it? Are you nervous?"
"No," Paige said. "It's just…you know…I think Dad would be happy for you. For us. Is it weird that I wish he was here to watch you get married to Mr. Jack?"
"Not at all," Rachel said, her heart throbbing at the comment, at the thought. "I miss him, too, you know?"
"I know." She opened her arms, and as Paige stepped into the embrace, Rachel held her close, a silent promise woven between them.
Holding her daughter, she felt a flush of warm certainty pass through her. Despite the time her job took away from them, Paige had always been her biggest supporter. Even as a kid, Paige understood the need for justice and for her mother to do very hard things. And while Rachel appreciated it beyond measure, she knew that she wanted more for her daughter. She didn't want her daughter growing up to think it was normal to spend so much time away from family, to create so much stress for those she loved. Rachel understood in that moment that she needed to do a better job at setting this example going forward. Not just for Paige, but for Jack, too.
"Now," Rachel said, taking a deep breath. "Let's get a move on before you start making me cry and I have wet, goopy trails of makeup everywhere."
Paige smiled and nodded. "Okay."
"Ready?" Rachel asked, pulling away just enough to search Paige's face.
"For sure," she said, her expression solemn yet bright with excitement, and they moved together toward the door. The world beyond it was small, the gathering meager in numbers but immeasurable in significance. Each person there was a thread in the tapestry of her new life, one she would weave with care, with love, and with an unyielding resolve to treasure every moment granted to them.
Emerging from the soft, elegant confines of the dressing room into the warm embrace of the afternoon sun, Rachel's eyes took a moment to adjust. She blinked, her senses slowly attuning to the vibrant colors and hushed anticipation that filled the small community garden waiting just thirty yards ahead of her. The space was modest, almost hidden away between the brick walls of the surrounding buildings, but it was alive with the greenery that spilled from every corner.
A few rows of chairs were neatly arranged on the lawn, occupied by solemn figures in suits and dresses. Among them sat Natalie King, her presence a comforting reminder of the support that had seen Rachel through the tempest of the past months. Rachel could scarcely remember saving the woman from the bathtub as Barnes's intended final victim. Even fainter was the moment they'd passed one another in the hospital, of Natalie joking about wanting an invitation to the wedding. And now here she was, a reminder of why Rachel treasured her job.
The wedding was small and intimate, just the way she and Jack had wanted. There was a certain rebellion in the simplicity, a conscious choice to strip away the pomp and ceremony that neither she nor Jack had any desire for. She stood with Paige at the top of the porch steps, feeling the gentle breeze toy with the loose strands of her hair. No father would give her away; no line of bridesmaids would precede her. This path she'd walk alone —well, almost alone. Paige was there, her youthful innocence a stark contrast to the complexities that Rachel had faced. And Jack only had a single best man, his best friend and roommate from Quantico, back during his academy days.
The opening chords of Rachel's chosen song, a melody more haunting than celebratory, wove through the air, carrying with it a sense of gravity that seemed to still the very world around them. With a reassuring glance, Rachel signaled Paige to begin her solitary walk down the makeshift aisle between the chairs.
Paige stepped forward, her little dress swaying. After a few paces, the young girl turned her head ever so slightly, a silent cue for Rachel to follow.
Rachel took a deep breath, her hand instinctively tracing the bandage on her arm, hidden beneath the lace and silk. Then, with a final nod to Paige, she began her descent. Each step was measured and careful. Every step carried an immense weight, leading her into a new future.
With each footfall, her heart seemed to beat louder, reverberating against the quiet murmurs of nature around her. The ominous undercurrents that had long colored her life felt distant now, though she knew they could never be entirely banished. But today was not for dwelling on shadows. Today, she walked toward light, toward love, toward Jack.
As she reached the aisle at the back of the rows of chairs, her gaze fell upon the canvas print propped up on an easel, a candid shot of her and Jack captured by none other than Grandma Tate about five or six months ago—smiling without the weight of recent trials shadowing their features. The photograph had been chosen with care, a symbol of enduring love amid chaos and another way for Grandma Tate to be part of the ceremony.
Yet it was not the image itself that drew Rachel's focus, but rather the single black and white photo that was clipped to its frame. It was held there with a simple binder clip, taken from her office.
The photo was a scanned copy of her latest test results, taken just three days before the wedding. It was a copy of the scan, looking almost like a child's macabre collage against the backdrop of the picture of her and Jack.
She stopped for a heartbeat, allowing her eyes to trace the contours of the scan—the areas once clouded by the presence of the tumor, now clear. The treatments in Seattle had worked in tandem with the ones in Switzerland. And when she'd gone in and had X-rays for surgery on her arm, Jack had requested the CT for her tumor as well.
And it was gone.
Turning back toward the aisle, Rachel felt the lingering chill of the past dissipate, warmth blooming within her chest as her eyes found Jack. He stood at the altar, his formality undone by the unchecked emotions playing across his face. When their eyes met, she saw the walls he'd built to protect himself crumble, and the few tears that escaped him spoke volumes of the vulnerability and love he held for her.
The few friends they'd invited—mostly other FBI agents, including Director Anderson—watched her come down the aisle but she was barely aware of them. Her eyes were locked on Jack as Paige made her way up, standing opposite him, just behind the spot Rachel would soon occupy.
As she took her place opposite Jack, the world held its breath. Here, at this small altar, the echoes of their past blended with the promise of the future. Rachel allowed herself to drink in the sight of him, the man who had become her anchor.
The man who would, in about ten minutes, be her husband.
In his eyes—clear, steady, and shining just for her—she glimpsed a horizon free of storms, a landscape ripe with possibilities. She had loved before and it had brought her many happy years. It had brought her Paige. So to think what a future with this man might also bring was dizzying to consider.
An entirely new future awaited. And as the pastor asked them to join together at the altar in front of the small group of attendees, Rachel and Jack clasped hands and it all began.