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Hannah looked up at him, wrapped in a blanket. “You okay?”
Two months later, in the same park where they’d once sat on a curb after the wedding disaster, Ryan knelt in front of Hannah.
“Hannah,” he said, voice shaking, “I know we got here in the messiest way possible. But you’re the first person who ever made me feel chosen. Will you marry me?”
Her hands flew to her mouth. “Yes,” she whispered. “A thousand times yes.”
Their daughter, Ava, was born the following spring. Ryan held her against his chest, crying into her tiny hat, promising her a life full of honesty and warmth.
His parents barely spoke to him now. Jason was a stranger. Megan became a faint memory.
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