Chapter 23

The twins grew fast.

Lily Grace was the quiet one. Loved to draw. Loved to read. Just like her grandma Hope had been.

Faith Marie was the loud one. Fearless. Climbed everything. Ran everywhere. Just like her great-grandma Lily had been.

They were 3 when we celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary.

We had a big party. In the backyard. Under the oak tree. Next to the treehouse.

All our family was there. Kids. Grandkids. Great-grandkids. Hundreds of friends. All the people whose lives we’d touched.

Lily and Hope gave a speech. Together.

“40 years ago, our parents and grandparents got married,” Lily said.

“They didn’t know what was coming,” Hope said.

“They didn’t know they’d have to fight so hard,” Lily said.

“They didn’t know they’d lose so much,” Hope said.

“But they also didn’t know they’d gain so much more,” Lily said.

“They saved a little girl,” Hope said.

“They saved thousands of kids,” Lily said.

“They built a legacy of love and hope that will last forever,” Hope said.

“Thank you,” they said together. “For everything. We love you.”

Everyone cheered. Cried. Clapped.

The twins ran up to us. Threw their arms around our legs. Yelled “HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!” as loud as they could.

We laughed. Cried. Held each other tight.

40 years.

So much life. So much love. So much hope.

That night, after everyone left, we sat on the porch. Just the two of us.

The house was quiet. The kids had all gone home. The only sound was the crickets. The wind in the oak tree.

Daniel held my hand. We were old now. Gray hair. Wrinkles. Aches and pains. But our love was still strong. Still bright. Still new.

“Remember the first time we saw Lily?” he said. Quiet.

I nodded. Smiled.

“I remember,” I said. “She was so small. So scared. Wouldn’t even look at us. And now look at her. Look at all of them.”

“We did good,” he said.

“We did great,” I said.

He leaned over. Kissed me. Soft. Sweet. Just like he’d done 40 years before.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” I said.

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