TWO YEARS LATER The garden was bathed in golden afternoon sunlight, the kind of warm, lazy light that made everything feel softer, slower, more forgiving. Laughter echoed across the manicured lawn as a tiny figure with golden curls and unsteady legs toddled toward the fountain, her chubby arms outstretched. "Lily, no! Not the water!" Yvonne called out, already on her feet. But the two-year-old was faster than she looked. She reached the edge of the fountain just as a pair of strong arms scooped her up from behind, spinning her around in a flurry of giggles. "Gotcha!" Rhys laughed, lifting his daughter high above his head. "You thought you could escape Daddy, didn't you?" "Again! Again!" Lily squealed, her little hands clapping. Hermione watched from the shaded patio, a glass of lemonade in her hand and a smile so wide it almost hurt. Two years. Two years since the rain, since the confession, since the kiss that had brought them back together. Two years since she had stopped run
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