“I love you, Daddy. I’ll try to remember you as you were to me. And I will miss you,” I tell him and let my tears drop into the earth. Do I forgive him? I don’t know. From inside my coat pocket, I take out his ring. It’s heavy in my hand. I set it on top of his grave, then lay my hand on the cool stone. “Goodbye.”

Without a word, the brothers come to stand on either side of me. I don’t look at them, not yet. This was my idea, not theirs. They wouldn’t have asked this of me.

A cool wind blows and a wisp of hair slips from its pins. It’s only here this happens. Nowhere else do the dropped leaves of this early fall day rustle. Just around us. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I slip my hands into Amadeo’s and Bastian’s.

I don’t know what my father wants to say as we turn and walk back toward our waiting SUV. Was it that he understands my decision? I’m going to think so. And as we climb into the back of the vehicle and Amadeo draws the seat belt over my shoulder, taking care to tuck it under my swelling belly, I feel her. For the first time, I feel our baby.

I must gasp because both Amadeo and Bastian stop.

“Dandelion?” Bastian asks. He hasn’t stopped calling me that, but I don’t mind.

I smile and nod as I set my hand over the spot where I feel it again. It’s the lightest touch. A flutter of butterfly wings almost. It’s gone as quickly as it came, and I turn to the brothers in turn.

“We’ll name her Hannah,” I say.

They exchange a glance. “Might be a boy,” Amadeo says.

I shake my head. “She’s a girl. And her name is going to be Hannah.”

Amadeo tucks that strand of hair that blew away behind my ear and kisses my temple. “Hannah.”

Bastian brushes his thumb under my eye and looks at me with those burning amber eyes.

“I like Hannah. But let’s all agree. If it’s a boy, it’s Bastian.”

We all laugh as the driver pulls out of the cemetery gates and we head home, together. Where I plan on living happily ever after with the men I love. The men I can’t live without.

BONUS EPILOGUE

VITTORIA

The Birth of Hannah

Emma and I are sitting on the patio, and she is reading to me from The Gruffalo. I’m not sure if she’s actually reading or has memorized the text since we’ve read it so much for so many years, but I don’t care. Her voice is music to my ears.