CHAPTER TWENTY: FOREVER BEGINS NOW

The sun rose like a blessing, soft and golden, casting light through gauzy curtains as if the sky itself had been told to behave for the occasion.

Lily sat near the window of their resort suite, her hands resting in her lap, watching as Auntie Claire carefully pinned the last delicate comb into her hair. Loose waves spilled down Lily's back, a few tendrils curling around her face like whispers of romance. Her gown, a flowing ivory piece with embroidered lilies along the bodice, shimmered gently with every breath.

"You look like a dream," Claire said, her voice tight with emotion as she stepped back to take in the full view.

Lily turned in the mirror and smiled softly. "I feel… calm. I didn't expect that."

Claire chuckled. "That's what happens when you know it's right."

The suite smelled of jasmine and makeup powder, and the air buzzed with gentle excitement. Soft music played from a speaker in the corner, the playlist Lily had made with Lance for mornings like this — full of strings, soft piano, and timeless love songs.

Claire, elegant in her navy-blue gown, adjusted her earrings and dabbed the corners of her eyes. "Your mom would be so proud, sweetheart."

Lily didn't say anything, but she reached for Claire's hand and gave it a firm, silent squeeze.

A knock at the door.

Lily's dad stepped in, dressed in a classic charcoal-gray suit, his eyes shining the moment he saw her.

"Wow," he breathed. "You look like your mother on her wedding day."

That made Lily's heart catch for a beat, but she stood and held out her arms. "Well, you clean up pretty well yourself."

They all laughed softly, trying not to ruin makeup, then gathered their things — bouquets of wildflowers, shoes in hand — and headed toward the golf cart waiting to take them to the ceremony site.

Outside, the day was perfect. The sky was endless blue, the breeze just enough to lift veils and petals but not disrupt. Down at the resort's secluded garden — the very place where Lily and Lance had shared their first date — white chairs were arranged in neat rows, surrounded by trees dressed in full bloom. Hanging lanterns swayed gently above, and a white arch wrapped in lilies and ivy marked the spot where their lives would entwine forever.

Lily held her dress delicately and stepped into the sunlight, her dad at her side, Claire just behind her.

"Ready?" her father asked.

Lily took one breath, slow and sure.

"I've never been more ready in my life."

The golf cart came to a gentle stop at the entrance of the garden path. Lily stepped down, her fingers wrapping gently around her bouquet as her father offered his arm. A breeze lifted her veil and the edges of her gown, the garden blooming around them with the quiet hum of spring and something sacred.

That was when she saw him.

Lance, standing beneath the arch, surrounded by flowers and light, was dressed in a deep charcoal suit that made his dark eyes gleam like polished obsidian. His tie, a shade of midnight, matched the evening skies they used to talk beneath. The weight of the moment sat on his shoulders like something honored, not feared.

And yet — his eyes sparkled. Glee, mischief, reverence.

In one hand, he held a microphone.

Lily's breath caught in her chest.

She remembered the first time she had seen him — walking down the hospital hallway, clean-cut and composed in his white coat. That same intensity now burned brighter, softer somehow, like love had reshaped it.

Still criminal to be this good-looking, she thought with a teary laugh in her throat.

Today, he wasn't walking toward her — she was walking toward him.

As Lily stepped onto the garden path, The quartet, seated in the shade beneath flowering trees, paused — and then, as if in silent understanding, began to play a new melody.

The opening chords were soft but rich, like the beginning of a promise. A song they both loved, woven with strings and piano, filled the air like a memory returning home. Gone was the traditional wedding march; in its place, a gentle piano melody began, unfamiliar to most guests but instantly recognizable to Lily. It was the opening of "zhè cì yǒng yuan"this time, forever" a Chinese song she had been listening to often, touched by its lyrics that mirrored their journey.

Lance stood beneath the floral arch, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, his eyes locked onto hers, as the melody played, he lifted it and began to sing, his voice steady and filled with emotion:​

"měi yī shìjiè wǒ dōu zài zhǎo

yī zhāng shúxī què móhú de liǎn

měi cì gàobié dōu liú xià bāhén

dàn wǒ yīzhí zhuīxún nǐ de huíyǐng

yǒu shí wǒ bǎ nǐ wò zài shǒu

què yīcì cì sòng nǐ líqù

nǐ xiàng guāng yīyàng cóng wǒ shǒuxīn liúzǒu

kě wǒ xiāngxìn — wǒmen huì chóngfēng

"

Lily's eyes welled up as she listened to the lyrics:​

"In every life, I searched through time

A face I knew, just out of line

Each goodbye left a silent scar

Still, I kept chasing who you are

Sometimes I held you, just to fall

The closer we got, the more I lost it all

You slipped like light through trembling hands

Yet I believed—we'd meet again

"​

Each word resonated deeply, reflecting the solitude they both had endured in so many lives finding each other only to lose each other. As she continued her walk down the aisle, the song's chorus echoed through the garden:​

"zhōngyú zhè yīshēng, nǐ méiyǒu líqù

bùzài huítóu, mèng yě bù zàihuǐ

jīngguò fēngyǔ, jīngguò tòngchǔ

wǒmen zài yīqǐ yòu xiāngyù

zhè cì shì zhēn de, wǒ yě zhēnshí

zàiyě méiyǒu zàijiàn

zhè yīshēng shǔyú wǒmen"​

"But finally, this life, you stayed

No turning back, no dream that fades

After the storms, after the pain

We found each other once again

You're real this time, and so am I

No more goodbyes

We made it through — this life is ours"​

As Lily reached the altar, her hand still gently resting in her father's, there was a pause — a quiet breath in the garden air.

Lance stepped forward, not to take her hand just yet, but to meet Mr. Storm's eyes.

With a slight bow of his head and steady voice, Lance said, "Sir… I would like to take Lily's hand — and with it, take on the promise to love her, protect her, and walk beside her for the rest of my life."

Mr. Storm looked at him, eyes misty but resolute. He nodded slowly, a flicker of emotion crossing his face — pride, trust, and a hint of the ache every father feels when he lets go.

"You better mean that with every breath you've got," he said, his voice thick but warm.

"I do," Lance answered, firm and unwavering.

Then, with a final smile, Mr. Storm gently placed Lily's hand into Lance's.

And as their fingers laced together, Lance leaned in close, voice soft but fervent.

"I thought I knew what to expect," he whispered. "But then I saw you standing at the end of that path… and it blew everything I imagined out of the water."

Lily smiled, eyes glimmering, and the garden held its breath.

Lily's breath caught, and she smiled through the shimmering mist in her eyes.

The officiant gave them a moment before beginning, voice calm and warm as he welcomed their closest friends and family. The ceremony unfolded with grace — heartfelt vows spoken under the canopy of soft sunlight and blooming florals, laughter escaping as Lance accidentally said "surgery" instead of "journey," and Lily playfully corrected him.

When it came time to exchange rings, their hands trembled slightly — not from nerves, but from the weight of it all. Of time, and lifetimes, and this miracle of finding one another again.

"You're my always," Lily said, slipping the ring onto his finger.

"As you are mine," Lance replied, doing the same.

When the words "You may now kiss your bride" were spoken, Lance didn't hesitate. He drew her close, kissed her like it was the first time, while cheers and applause rose from the crowd like joy bursting into bloom.

After the kiss sealed in the garden breeze, and the cheers softened into the background hum of celebration, it was time for one of the light-hearted traditions: the bouquet toss.

Lily turned around on the small garden platform, her hands full with a cascade of white peonies, baby's breath, and blush-pink roses. A group of eager guests gathered behind her — nurses, editors and a few of Lance's colleagues all elbowing each other with teasing grins.

She lifted her arms, laughing. "Alright, ready?"

She tossed.

The bouquet arced beautifully into the sun-soaked sky… and missed the cluster of women entirely.

It sailed just a little too far — and landed squarely in the lap of Mr. Storm, who had been sitting contentedly on a nearby garden bench with a glass of sparkling cider in hand.

The crowd erupted.

Lily gasped, hand over her mouth, as her father looked down in stunned confusion, the bouquet cradled gently against his chest like it had chosen him.

The reception followed under golden string lights and laughter. Tables were laid out on the garden lawn, draped in soft ivory linens and lined with vases of wildflowers. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying music, chatter, and clinking glasses.

Aunt Claire gave a witty, teary toast. Lily's dad shared stories that had everyone in fits of laughter and tender silence in turns. Lance's little sister Ellie, brimming with energy, took over the dance floor with Lily at one point, spinning until they both collapsed in a fit of giggles.

When the cake was cut, Lance made good on his playful threat and dabbed a bit of frosting on Lily's nose — only to be repaid twice over.

Later, as the sun dipped below the hills, painting the sky in dusky pink and lavender, Lance and Lily slipped away quietly, waving at their guests from the back of the classic car waiting at the drive.

* * *

That evening, just past 7 p.m., they boarded a quiet flight under different stars, hand in hand, bound for Greece — where the ocean whispered stories to white stone cliffs, and time, for once, felt unhurried.

As the plane ascended, Lily leaned her head on Lance's shoulder and whispered, "Can you believe this is real?"

He kissed the top of her hair, eyes soft with wonder. "After everything… I've never believed in anything more."

By the time they landed in Greece, night had blanketed the island in velvet. The stars stretched endlessly above them, scattered like diamonds across the sky. The soft breeze that rolled in from the sea was warm and scented faintly with salt, lavender, and distant citrus groves. A sleek black car waited for them at the airport, whisking them through quiet, winding coastal roads where the sea shimmered silver under moonlight.

Their hotel was carved into the cliffs, a whitewashed dream of arches and soft stone nestled above the endless blue. When they stepped into their suite — airy, minimalist, and facing the ocean — Lily let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

The sea whispered through the open balcony doors. The room was softly lit, the linens crisp, the marble floor cool beneath bare feet. A bottle of champagne sat in a silver bucket beside a tray of fresh strawberries and pale cheeses.

But neither reached for them.

Instead, they stood in the middle of the room, barefoot and quiet, absorbing the stillness of it all.

Lance turned to her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"We made it," he said gently.

Lily smiled. "It still doesn't feel real."

He kissed her — soft and reverent, as if trying to tell her through touch that everything, everything, had led them here. That night, beneath gauzy sheets and the gentle hush of waves, they became husband and wife in every sense — slow, unrushed, and full of the kind of love that needed no words.

The next morning, sunlight spilled in golden through the open balcony. Lily woke first, curled into his side, the sheets tangled and their limbs still warm from the night before.

They spent the morning exploring each other and the rest of the day exploring — just the two of them, hand in hand, laughter easy and frequent.

They found a private cove that the concierge had whispered about, down a trail flanked with wild thyme and tiny white daisies. The water was shockingly blue, clear down to the rocky bottom. Lily dove in first, her laughter echoing across the stones, while Lance followed after, catching her by the waist mid-splash. She squealed and wrapped her legs around him, saltwater beading down her eyelashes.

Later, wrapped in towels on the rocks, she leaned her head on his shoulder and said, "I want to remember this exact moment forever."

He kissed her forehead. "So will I."

Another day, they wandered through cobbled alleyways in an old fishing village. The buildings were stacked like a dream — shutters painted every shade of blue, balconies bursting with geraniums. Lily wore a soft sundress that fluttered around her knees, and Lance took endless photos of her pretending to be annoyed.

They sampled pistachio gelato, shared grilled halloumi under a vine-laced canopy, and bought keepsakes from local artisans — a handwoven bracelet for Ellie, olive oil soap for Aunt Claire, a carved olivewood pen for Mr. Storm.

In a sleepy square, a street musician played a bittersweet tune on the violin, and Lily stood still for a long moment, eyes glistening. When he reached for her hand, she blinked and laughed through her tears. "I don't even know why I'm crying."

"I do," Lance said. "It's everything."

One afternoon, they didn't leave the hotel at all.

They spent the day in robes, lying on sun-warmed lounge chairs on their private terrace. Lily read aloud from a novel, stopping often to kiss his shoulder, or to ask what he thought would happen next. He didn't care about the plot — only the sound of her voice.

Later, they napped tangled in each other, sunlight brushing their bare skin, shadows swaying as the breeze played with the curtains.

She caught him staring at her once, eyes full of something that made her breath catch.

"Regretting it already?" she teased.

He leaned forward, kissed her collarbone, and whispered, "Not even in another lifetime."

Their last night arrived too soon. The sky was painted lavender, and the sea stretched out like a poem. They sat on their balcony, Lily nestled into Lance's chest, a soft throw draped around them.

The moon rose, casting a silver path across the waves.

"I never imagined love could feel like this," she whispered.

"That's because this isn't just love," Lance said, his voice warm against her hair. "This is fate giving us another chance."

She tilted her head back to look at him. "Then we better make it count."

And he kissed her, slow and certain — like a promise to always, always find her, no matter the life.

* * *

Two months had passed since the wedding. The air was beginning to cool, autumn creeping over the suburbs in golden hues. Their new home stood nestled on the suburbs of the city. It was just as Lily had imagined — maybe even more.

She had taken her time decorating the study, filling the shelves with books, candles, and framed photos. Lance had insisted she take over the sunniest corner, where she could write with natural light spilling across her desk and a view of their blooming backyard.

Today, it was Lance who reigned in the kitchen.

The smell of freshly baked rolls drifted from the oven — buttery, golden, and impossibly soft. Lance moved with surprising ease, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting his temple. He'd once confessed that in another life — a quieter one — he had been a baker. A humble man with strong hands and a gentle smile who loved making things rise.

"Smells divine," Lily murmured as she leaned on the kitchen island, chin in her hand.

"Not as divine as the look on your face when you eat one," Lance said, grinning as he slid a tray from the oven. "Fresh batch. Don't burn your tongue."

They spent the afternoon in their sanctuary of quiet, reading together in the living room, the fire crackling. But as the week wore on, something changed.

Lily grew… off.

She was tired in a way that sleep didn't fix, nauseous and sometimes lightheaded. She brushed it off as jet lag lingering too long, maybe a cold. But Lance saw the way her complexion dulled slightly, the way she pressed a hand to her abdomen now and then with a faint crease between her brows.

He couldn't shake it.

He was a doctor. And he had just run a full workup on her before the wedding — every scan, every blood test pristine. Still, his gut churned every time she winced or grew quiet mid-laugh.

"Lily," he said one morning, more stern than he meant, "we're going to the hospital. Today."

She didn't protest.

The Lily of Hope Oncology Centre felt different now. It had once been a place where he braced himself for war. Today, he was the one on the edge of unravelling. He held Lily's hand tightly as they walked into one of the private diagnostic rooms.

Dr. Bennett was already there, a man in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. He had joined the Centre six months ago, requesting a quiet position under the young prodigy himself — Dr. Lance Davis.

"Doctor Davis," Bennett said, offering a polite nod, then turned to Lily with a smile. "And this must be the famous Mrs. Davis."

Lance didn't return the pleasantry. "She's been having symptoms — fatigue, nausea, dizziness. I ran all the panels before the wedding. Everything was normal. But now—"

Dr. Bennett held up a hand gently. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

The tests were swift, but the wait wasn't. Lance paced the hallway just outside the door, fingers raking through his hair, worry etched into every motion. He was the husband now, not the physician.

At last, Dr. Bennett stepped out with a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Well," he began, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe, "I joined this centre because I wanted to learn from one of the brightest minds in modern medicine — someone I'd been following in journals long before I ever met him. Never thought I'd see the day that brilliant doctor lost all sense over a diagnosis so beautifully simple."

Lance straightened. "What do you mean?"

Dr. Bennett clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Congratulations, Dr. Davis. You're going to be a father."

Lance froze.

"Wait—what?"

"You heard me. Your wife is in her early weeks of pregnancy. Perfectly healthy. So is the baby. Just… experiencing all the classic signs. Which, apparently, even you didn't catch." He chuckled. "Ah, young love. Blinds even the brightest minds."

Lance was already halfway through the door before the laughter faded.

Inside, Lily sat on the examination table, her gaze lifted to meet his. One look at his face and she tilted her head.

"What is it?" she asked, a flicker of concern.

He crossed the room in three strides, took her face in both hands, and kissed her — hard, breathless, a little dazed.

"You're pregnant," he murmured against her lips. "You… we're going to have a baby."

Her lips parted.

A second of silence — and then she let out a soft, stunned laugh.

"Wait, seriously? I thought I was just tired. I mean, I am tired, but—"

"You're pregnant," he repeated, voice shaking slightly, and then he laughed too, forehead resting against hers. "I can't believe I missed it. Me. Of all people."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close. "Maybe that's what love does. Makes you forget everything else."

He kissed her again, slower this time. "You're okay. The baby's okay."

"Our baby," she whispered, hands trembling a little against his shirt. "We're really going to be parents."

Outside, the leaves rustled softly in the wind.

A new season was beginning — not just in the air, but in their lives. And this time, they weren't just rewriting fate.

They were building something from it.

Together.