Epilogue

Eighteen Months Later—(Manhattan)

"Come in, come in," my father says, stepping aside so Ash, Aria, her parents, and I can enter the brownstone I grew up in.

I give my dad the first hug, my arms tight around him as I revel in the way he's hugging me back. When we'd visited three months ago, he hadn't remembered my name, much less Ash's. This time, he extends his hand to Ash and says, "Good to see you again."

"You, too, sir," Ash says before glancing my way, the delight in his eyes as vibrant as what I'm feeling.

"He's doing so great," I say to my mom a few minutes later when she and I are putting the final touches on the dinner we're about to serve.

"The center's doing wonderful things with so many of the patients in the program," she tells me. "Your young man is a gift from God."

I grin. "Yeah, well, I like to think so." I'd insisted on returning the three million to Ash after the authorities extracted it from the Marty Road account. He'd absolutely refused to take it back. So we'd compromised and donated it to a Manhattan-based clinic that was doing groundbreaking work with Alzheimer's patients. The only caveat? My dad gets the treatments. No placebos. And while he's not miraculously turned back into the man he used to be, he has fewer bad days. And even those seem better.

"What can we do?" Aria asks, as she and my second mom join us in the kitchen. Soon enough, all the dishes are on the table, and we're settling in to celebrate Ash and me and our sixth month wedding anniversary.

"You know," my father says after my mother makes a toast, "I don't think I ever heard how you two met."

Ash and I exchange a glance. Dad's heard that story at least two times. But it's not a story I ever tire of hearing Ash tell.

He offers my mom a wink, then looks at my dad. "Well, sir. The truth is that I paid her a few million to go out with me. It was the only way I could get her attention."

My dad nods and chuckles. "And was she worth it?"

Ash squeezes my hand. "Sir, she was worth every single penny."

Later, after Aria's walked home with her parents and I've helped my mom with the dishes, Ash and I take a walk. Not just a stroll, though that would be lovely. No, tonight, I have a destination in mind, and we walk the twelve blocks to Fifth Avenue and the tree Ash had sponsored.

I bend down, then take the handkerchief Ash hands me to wipe a layer of dust off the plaque and the inscription: Love is like a sword. Do not test the well-honed blade .

"I love you," he'd said when he'd first brought me here. "Kari and Maggie and Martin brought us together, but they also tested that love. I'd say they felt the blade."

The analogy may not be perfect, but the bench is. So is the thought. And so is this man who loves me. Who helped me get free of the monsters that haunted me. Mostly, anyway. And on the few nights when one sneaks into my dreams, Ash is there to hold me. To help me fight it back.

And I know he always will be.

THE END