78

Sierra's POV

Meeting the Crofts was one thing. Building a relationship with them was another.

After that first coffee, we didn't see them for a few weeks. Life got busy. Katie had school projects. Louis had work. I had foundation meetings. The usual chaos.

But they sent cards. Little notes. Margaret had beautiful handwriting, old-fashioned and careful. Edward's was shakier, but you could tell he tried.

*Dear Louis, Sierra, and Katie,*

*I saw the most beautiful flowers today at the garden store. Purple ones, like Katie's sweater. Made me think of her. Hope you're all well.*

*Love,*

*Grandma Margaret*

*P.S. Edward is learning to use email. It's not going well. Send help.*

Katie loved the cards. She taped them to her wall. She started writing back, little notes in her messy kid handwriting.

*Dear Grandma Margaret,*

*Thank you for the card. My sweater is still sparkly. Mom washed it and it didn't die. School is boring but art class is fun. I drew a horse. It looked like a dog but that's okay.*

*Love,*

*Katie*

*P.S. Tell Grandpa Edward computers are hard. Mom yells at hers all the time.*

Louis laughed when he read that. "You yell at your computer?"

"Sometimes it deserves it."

The weeks turned into a month. Then two. We visited them at their house for the first time.

It was huge. Old. Victorian, with towers and gingerbread trim and a wraparound porch. The kind of house that looks like it belongs in a movie.

Katie's eyes went wide. "You live in a castle?"

Margaret laughed. "It's just a big old house, sweetheart. Very drafty. Very expensive to heat."

"But it's a CASTLE."

Edward met us at the door. He looked nervous, but happy. "Come in, come in. I made tea. And cookies. Margaret said Katie likes cookies."

"I LOVE cookies."

The inside was even more amazing. High ceilings. Dark wood. Stained glass windows. Old furniture that looked like antiques. Paintings on the walls, portraits of people from a hundred years ago.

"Those are ancestors," Margaret said, seeing Katie stare. "Boring old dead people."

"They look fancy."

"They thought they were fancy. That was the problem."

We sat in a huge living room with a fireplace big enough to stand in. Edward served tea in real china cups. Katie got her own little cup, which she held very carefully, like it might explode.

"These belonged to William's grandmother," Margaret said softly. "She served tea in them every Sunday. She would have loved you."

Louis picked up his cup. Turned it in his hands.

"He grew up here?"

"Yes. Right in this house. Ran through these halls. Climbed those trees outside." She pointed to the window. "That big oak. He fell out of it once. Broke his arm."

"I fell out of a tree once," Katie said. "I didn't break anything. Just my pride."

Edward snorted. "Your pride?"

"That's what Mom said. It means I was embarrassed."

"I know what it means, child. I just didn't expect a nine-year-old to say it."

Katie grinned. "I'm smart."

After tea, Margaret showed us around. The house was full of William. Photos on every surface. His school pictures. His sports trophies. A painting of him as a teenager, serious and handsome.

Louis stopped in front of that painting. Stared at it for a long time.

"I look like him."

"Very much," Margaret said softly. "More every year."

"Do you have any of him as an adult? Older than this?"

"No. He was only nineteen when..." She trailed off. Swallowed. "We don't have any older photos."

The silence was heavy. Nineteen. Just a kid. Younger than Katie would be in ten years.

"I'm sorry," Louis said. "For your loss."

Margaret's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you. That's... that's very kind."

Edward appeared behind them. Put his hand on Margaret's shoulder.

"We have something else to show you," he said. "If you're ready."

He led us to a small room on the third floor. A bedroom. Preserved like a museum. Boy's things. Sports posters. Books. A desk with papers still on it.

"His room," Edward said. "We never changed it. Couldn't bring ourselves to."

Louis walked in slowly. Touched the desk. The bed. Picked up a book from the shelf.

"He read this?"

"He read everything. Loved adventure stories. Always wanted to travel."

"Did he?"

"No. He met Margaret—your mother—and that became his adventure."

Louis opened the book. A inscription inside: *To William, on your 16th birthday. May you always seek adventure. Love, Dad.*

Edward saw him reading it. "I gave him that. He read it three times. Said it was the best present he ever got."

Louis closed the book carefully. Put it back exactly where he found it.

"Thank you for showing me this."

"Thank you for coming," Edward said. "We never thought we'd have this chance."

Katie was quiet on the way home. Unusually quiet.

"You okay, baby?" I asked.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About William. He was my real grandpa, right? Not the one I knew, but the one I never met?"

"Yes, baby. Your real grandpa."

"He died before I was born."

"Yes."

"That's sad."

"It is sad."

"But now we have Grandma Margaret and Grandpa Edward. So it's like... we got extra grandparents to make up for it."

Louis looked at me over her head. His eyes were wet.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Exactly like that."

---

The visits became regular. Once a month. Then every few weeks. The Crofts were hungry for family, for connection. They never pushed. Never demanded. Just welcomed us with open arms and too much food.

Margaret taught Katie to bake. Real baking, not the burnt cookies from before. They made pies and cakes and bread together, flour everywhere, laughing at their mistakes.

Edward taught Louis chess. Real chess, the kind with strategies and names for moves. They played for hours in the big living room, the fire crackling, the house creaking around them.

I watched it all. The healing. The bonding. The slow mending of a forty-year wound.

One night, driving home after a long visit, Louis said, "I forgive them."

"For what?"

"For everything. For what they did to my mother. For trying to take me away. For all those years of loneliness."

"That's big."

"I know." He sighed. "I didn't think I would. When we first met them, I was so angry. But then I saw them. Really saw them. Two old people who made terrible mistakes and spent their whole lives regretting it. What's the point of holding onto anger?"

"Some people would say you have every right to be angry."

"Maybe. But anger doesn't help anyone. It just sits there, poisoning you. I'd rather have them. I'd rather Katie have grandparents who love her."

I reached over and squeezed his hand.

"You're a good man, Louis Crowe."

"I'm trying."

---

The holidays came. Thanksgiving at the Croft house. Christmas at ours. New Year's together, watching fireworks from their big porch.

Katie got presents from three sets of grandparents now. Vivienne, who was still cool but softer. Margaret and Edward, who spoiled her rotten. And the memory of Grandma M, who we still talked about, still missed.

"She would have loved this," Louis said one night, watching Katie open presents. "All of it."

"She's watching," I said. "Somewhere."

"You believe that?"

"I believe love doesn't just disappear. It goes somewhere."

He nodded. Pulled me close.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Forever?"

"Forever and ever."

Katie ran over, dragging a new doll. "LOOK! SHE HAS REAL HAIR! I CAN BRUSH IT!"

"Let's see," Louis said, taking the doll. "That's nice hair."

"I'm gonna name her Margaret. After both grandmas."

"That's perfect, baby."

The snow fell outside. The fire crackled inside. Our family, big and messy and wonderful, filled the house with noise and love.

And I thought about the journey. All the fear. All the fighting. All the ghosts we buried.

We made it. We actually made it.

---

Winter turned to spring. The Crofts got older, slower. Margaret's hands weren't steady anymore. Edward's memory got fuzzy sometimes.

But they were happy. Really happy. They had family. They had us.

One afternoon in April, we got a call. Edward had fallen. Broken his hip. He was in the hospital.

We went right away. Found Margaret in the waiting room, small and scared.

"He's okay," she said quickly. "He'll be okay. But he's old. Recovery is hard."

"We'll help," Louis said. "Whatever you need."

"You have your own lives."

"You're our lives too now. That's how family works."

Margaret cried. Happy tears. The kind that come when you realize you're not alone anymore.

Edward recovered slowly. We visited every day. Katie drew him pictures. Louis brought him books. I brought food from home, things easier to eat than hospital food.

"You're good people," Edward said one day, holding Katie's latest drawing. "All of you. We don't deserve you."

"You're family," Louis said. "That's all that matters."

---

Summer came. Hot and lazy. We spent weekends at the Croft house, swimming in their pool (yes, they had a pool), eating Margaret's cooking, listening to Edward's stories.

Katie learned to dive that summer. She was so proud. "Daddy! Watch! I didn't belly flop!"

"Amazing! You're an Olympic diver now."

"Really?"

"No, but you're getting there."

She splashed him. He splashed back. Soon it was a war, water flying everywhere.

I watched from a lounge chair, laughing. Margaret sat next to me, wrapped in a robe even though it was hot.

"She's a joy," Margaret said softly.

"She is."

"You're lucky."

"We are." I looked at her. "So are you. You have her now."

She smiled. Her old eyes crinkled. "Yes. Yes, we do."

---

Fall came again. A year since we first met the Crofts. A year of healing and love and family dinners.

We celebrated at their house. A big dinner. Turkey and pie and too many sides. Katie helped cook. Louis helped carve. I helped set the table.

At the end of the night, Edward stood up. He tapped his glass with a spoon.

"I want to say something," he said. His voice was shaky but clear. "A year ago, we were alone. Two old people in a big house, waiting to die. Then you came." He looked at us. At Louis. At me. At Katie. "You gave us life again. You gave us hope. You gave us family."

Margaret was crying. So was I. Even Louis's eyes were wet.

"We can't ever make up for the past," Edward continued. "We know that. But we can be here now. For you. For Katie. For whatever time we have left."

Louis stood up. Walked over to Edward. Hugged him tight.

"That's all we need," he said. "Just be here."

Katie ran over and joined the hug. Then me. Then Margaret. A big, messy, crying, laughing group hug in the middle of the dining room.

"We're the Croft-Crowe family now," Katie announced. "Croft-Crowe. Like a team name."

"The Croft-Crowes," Louis said. "I like it."

"Me too," Edward said. "Sounds strong."

It was strong. We were strong. All of us together.

---

That winter, Edward passed away. Peacefully, in his sleep. Margaret found him in the morning, still holding a photo of William.

The funeral was small. Just us and a few old friends. Katie cried. Louis held her. I held them both.

Margaret was quiet. Stoic. She'd had time to prepare. They both had.

"He was ready," she said afterward, at the house. "We talked about it. He wasn't scared. He said he'd get to see William again."

"Do you believe that?" I asked.

"I have to. Otherwise, what's the point of all this?"

She looked around the big house. The empty rooms. The memories everywhere.

"I'll be okay," she said. "I have you now. I have Katie. I have something to live for."

We moved her into a smaller place after that. An apartment in the city, closer to us. The big house was too much for one person. Too many ghosts.

She fought it at first. Didn't want to leave. But once she was in the new place, smaller and cozier, she admitted it was better.

"I can actually heat this place," she said. "And no stairs. My knees thank you."

Katie loved having her close. She'd walk over after school sometimes, just to say hi. They'd bake cookies or watch movies or just sit and talk.

"She's my best friend," Katie said one day. "Besides Chloe."

"Grandma Margaret is your best friend?"

"One of them. You're my best friend too, Mommy. But you're different. You're mom-friend."

"Mom-friend. I like that."

---

Spring came again. The city bloomed. Life went on.

Louis's business grew. The foundation grew. Katie grew. She was almost as tall as me now, all legs and opinions.

Margaret got older. Slower. But she was happy. Really happy.

One afternoon, she called me. Her voice was strange.

"Sierra? Can you come over? Alone?"

"Of course. Is everything okay?"

"Just come."

I went. Found her sitting at her kitchen table, an old box in front of her.

"What's this?"

"Sit down, dear."

I sat. She opened the box. Inside were letters. Dozens of them. All addressed to Louis. All in her handwriting.

"I've been writing to him," she said. "Every month since we met. Letters I never sent. About my life. About my memories of William. About how much I love watching Katie grow up."

"Why didn't you send them?"

"I was scared. Scared of being too much. Scared of overwhelming him." She looked at me. "But I don't want to leave them behind like Margaret did. I don't want him to find them after I'm gone and wonder why I never shared them."

I understood. Perfectly.

"You want me to give them to him?"

"Not all at once. Maybe... one a month? On his birthday? Holidays? Just little pieces of me, to have after I'm gone."

My eyes filled with tears. "Margaret..."

"I'm not dying tomorrow," she said quickly. "But I'm old. And old people think about these things. I want him to know. All of it. The good and the bad. The love and the regret. Everything."

I took the box. It was heavy. Heavy with words. Heavy with love.

"I'll do it," I promised. "One at a time. Just like you said."

She smiled. Reached across and patted my hand.

"You're a good daughter-in-law, Sierra. The best I could have hoped for."

"You're a good mother-in-law. The best I could have hoped for."

We laughed. Cried a little. Hugged a lot.

That night, I told Louis about the letters. He was quiet for a long time.

"She's been writing to me?"

"Every month. Since we met."

"Can I read them?"

"Someday. She wants you to have them over time. Not all at once."

He nodded. Understood. "Okay. Whenever you think is right."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

We went to sleep, tangled together like always. The box of letters sat on my nightstand, waiting. Full of words. Full of love. Full of a grandmother's heart.

---

The next morning, Katie burst into our room at 6am.

"WAKE UP! IT'S SATURDAY! WE'RE SUPPOSED TO DO FUN THINGS!"

Louis groaned. "Fun things at 6am?"

"THE BEST FUN THINGS!"

We went to the zoo. Again. Katie still loved the penguins. She could watch them for hours.

Margaret came with us. Slow steps, but determined. She sat on a bench and watched Katie run from exhibit to exhibit, a smile on her face.

"She's so full of life," Margaret said.

"She gets it from her father."

"Her father gets it from you."

I laughed. "We're a mess."

"The best kind of mess."

Louis came back with ice cream for everyone. He handed Margaret a cone, careful not to drip.

"Thank you, dear."

"Of course."

We sat there, three generations, eating ice cream and watching penguins. The sun was warm. The kids were loud. Life was good.

"We should do this every Saturday," Katie announced.

"Every Saturday?" Louis pretended to be horrified. "That's a lot of penguins."

"Penguins are never too many!"

"She's got a point," Margaret said.

And so we did. Not every Saturday, but a lot of them. Zoo days became a tradition. Ice cream and penguins and family.

Margaret came as long as she could. Then, when she couldn't walk so well, we brought the zoo to her. Pictures. Videos. Katie's dramatic reenactments.

"She's a treasure," Margaret told me one day, watching Katie perform a penguin dance.

"She is."

"So are you."

"So are you."

We hugged. Old and young. Connected by love.

---

Another year passed. Katie turned twelve. A teenager. Officially.

She rolled her eyes more. Talked back sometimes. But she also still crawled into bed with us on Sunday mornings, still wanted hugs, still called me Mommy when she was tired.

"She's growing up," Louis said one night, watching her do homework at the kitchen table.

"They do that."

"It's happening too fast."

"I know."

He put his arm around me. "At least I have you. Forever."

"Forever's a long time."

"Not long enough."

I leaned into him. Watched our daughter grow. Felt my husband's heart beat against my back.

This was it. This was the life we fought for. The life we almost lost. The life we built from rubble and fear and love.

And it was beautiful.

---

Margaret passed away two years later. Peaceful, like Edward. In her sleep. A smile on her face.

Katie was fourteen by then. Old enough to understand. Young enough to still cry.

"She was my best friend," she sobbed at the funeral. "My grandma-best-friend."

"She was," I said, holding her. "And she'll always be with you. In your heart."

Louis spoke at the service. He talked about finding her. About the letters. About the love that grew from nothing.

"She gave me a family," he said. "Not just her and Edward, but my mother too. She helped me understand where I came from. Who I am. And she loved my daughter with her whole heart. That's all any of us can ask for."

Afterward, we went through her apartment. Found more boxes. More letters. More photos. A lifetime of memories.

And at the bottom of one box, a letter addressed to me.

*Dear Sierra,*

*If you're reading this, I'm gone. Thank you for everything. For bringing Louis to me. For sharing your family. For being the daughter I never had.*

*Take care of them. Louis and Katie. They're your world. I know you will.*

*I love you.*

*Margaret*

I folded the letter carefully. Put it in my jewelry box, next to my wedding ring and Katie's first tooth.

Some things you keep forever.

---

Life went on. It always does.

Katie grew up. Graduated high school. Went to college. Fell in love. Got her heart broken. Fell in love again.

Louis got older. Grey hair. Reading glasses. Still the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

I got older too. Wrinkles. Grey hair. A body that hurt in the mornings. But happy. So happy.

We traveled. We laughed. We fought sometimes. We made up always.

Vivienne passed away when Katie was in college. She left us everything. We gave most of it away. Kept just enough to remember her by.

Katie got married in our garden. The same garden where Lyle once watched us. She wore white. She glowed. Louis walked her down the aisle and cried the whole time.

"She's happy," he whispered to me during the reception.

"She is."

"We did good."

"We did."

Katie had a baby two years later. A girl. They named her Margaret. Little Maggie with her mother's smile and her grandmother's eyes.

Louis held her for the first time and broke down. Just sobbed.

"She looks like you," he said. "Like all of you."

"She looks like love," I said.

We were grandparents now. Old and soft and full of joy.

Maggie called us Gigi and Pop-Pop. She climbed into our laps and demanded stories. She learned to bake from me, just like Katie did.

"I love you, Gigi," she'd say, flour on her nose.

"I love you too, Maggie-moo."

---

One night, when Maggie was five, we were all at Katie's house for dinner. Louis and me. Katie and her husband. Maggie and her chaos.

After dinner, Maggie climbed into Louis's lap.

"Pop-Pop, tell me a story."

"What kind of story?"

"A love story. About you and Gigi."

Louis looked at me. Smiled. That same smile from all those years ago.

"Okay," he said. "Once upon a time, there was a very rich man who was very lonely."

"That's you?"

"That's me. And there was a beautiful woman who was very strong."

"That's Gigi."

"That's Gigi. And they didn't like each other at first."

"Why not?"

"Because they were both too stubborn to see what was right in front of them."

"Like me and Tommy Jenkins?"

"Exactly like that."

Maggie giggled. "Then what happened?"

"Then lots of scary things happened. Bad people. Fights. Tears."

"That's sad."

"It was sad. But then, after all the scary stuff, they realized something."

"What?"

"That they loved each other. That they were stronger together. That they could build something beautiful from all the broken pieces."

"Like a castle?"

"Like a family."

Maggie thought about that. Then she hugged Louis tight.

"I'm glad you built the family, Pop-Pop."

"Me too, Maggie-moo. Me too."

She fell asleep in his arms. Katie came over and took a picture. Sent it to me later with a caption: *The best men. The best love.*

I looked at that picture for a long time. My husband. My granddaughter. My whole heart.

---

That night, lying in bed, Louis reached for my hand.

"Sierra?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. For staying. For fighting. For loving me."

I turned to look at him. Even now, old and grey, he was beautiful.

"Thank you for being worth staying for."

He smiled. Kissed my forehead.

"Forever?"

"Forever and ever."

We fell asleep like that. Holding hands. Two old people in a big bed, surrounded by memories.

The ghosts were long gone. The fear was forgotten. All that remained was love.

Pure, simple, endless love.

---

The next morning, we woke up to Maggie jumping on the bed.

"GIGI! POP-POP! WAKE UP! IT'S CHRISTMAS!"

Louis groaned. "It's 5am."

"SANTA CAME!"

"Santa can come back at 8."

I laughed. Pulled him out of bed.

"Come on, old man. Santa waits for no one."

We went downstairs. Presents everywhere. Maggie's shrieks of joy. Coffee for us. Chaos for everyone.

Katie hugged me tight. "Merry Christmas, Mom."

"Merry Christmas, baby."

I looked around the room. My daughter. My son-in-law. My granddaughter. My husband. My family.

All of them. Together. Happy. Alive.

This was it. This was the ending.

Not a fairy tale. Not perfect. But real. And beautiful.

And ours.

Forever and ever.

The end.