Morning light spilled softly through the curtains of the seaside villa, golden and gentle, painting the room in warmth. The faint scent of salt and blooming jasmine drifted in from the open balcony doors, where waves whispered their slow, steady rhythm against the shore. It was a quiet stretch of days in a sunlit town—just the two of them, lingering in the afterglow of vows and celebration.
Stacy stirred beneath the sheets, her hand reaching instinctively for the space beside her—empty, but still warm. She blinked sleep from her eyes and found Zoe standing on the balcony, her silhouette framed by sunlight and sea breeze. For a moment, Stacy simply watched her—the curve of her shoulders, the quiet grace in the way she leaned against the railing.
A soft smile touched her lips as she rose, the silk of her robe brushing against her skin. Barefoot, she crossed the room and slipped her arms around Zoe's waist from behind, resting her chin lightly on her shoulder.
"Good morning, Mrs. Holloway," Stacy murmured, pressing a kiss to Zoe's bare shoulder.
Zoe smiled, her hands moving to cover Stacy's. "Good morning, Mrs. Holloway," she echoed softly, the sound of her voice like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Stacy let out a quiet laugh, her breath brushing Zoe's ear. "I still can't believe it... we're actually married."
Zoe turned slightly, her gaze soft. "Neither can I," she said, a small smile curving her lips. "But this—" she gestured to the horizon, to the world before them, "—this is real."
For a while, they stood in silence, the ocean's rhythm syncing with their breaths. Then, Stacy's voice broke the quiet, gentle but edged with curiosity.
"But... how did it all happen?" she asked, tracing slow circles against Zoe's arm. "How did my dad agree to all this?"
Zoe turned fully now, facing her. The morning light caught the shimmer of emotion in her eyes.
"It started with Alexandra," she said softly. "She came to see me. She told me everything—including about the letter. The one you left before you went away."
Stacy's heart stilled. "You found it?"
Zoe nodded slowly, her voice trembling. "Not until recently. It was under the couch. All this time, I thought you just left—without a word. I had no idea you tried to reach me."
A tear slipped down her cheek, and Stacy brushed it away tenderly.
"She told me everything," Zoe said softly. "Then she mentioned your dad wanted to talk to me. I didn't know what was coming—honestly, I was furious. But I listened. I let him speak."
The memory came back clearly—
The café was quiet in the evening, the last light of day slanting through tall windows, catching in the steam from half-finished cups of coffee. Zoe sat across from Alexandra, her heart racing as she tried to process everything she'd just learned.
"Now that you know everything," Alexandra said gently, "there's someone who wants to talk to you."
Zoe frowned. "Who?"
Before Alexandra could answer, a familiar voice spoke from behind her.
"Me."
Zoe turned, her breath catching in her throat. Stacy's father stood there, his posture uncertain, his expression weighted with regret.
"What are you doing here?" she asked cautiously.
He sat down across from her, his hands clasped tightly together. "Please, Zoe. Just... hear me out."
Zoe stayed silent, wary but listening.
"I know I can't change what happened," he began, voice low. "I was wrong. I let pride and fear dictate everything I did. I thought I was protecting Stacy, but all I did was hurt her—and you."
Zoe's jaw tightened. "You were cruel. To both of us. She loved you so much, she kept trying to be everything you wanted her to be. And when she finally chose herself—chose me—you tore it all apart."
His eyes glistened. "You're right," he said, his voice breaking. "I lost sight of what mattered most. And I don't expect forgiveness, not yet. But I do want to make it right."
Zoe's voice softened, barely above a whisper. "How?"
He exhaled slowly, his expression tender with humility. "By giving my daughter back the happiness I took from her. By helping you give it to her again."
Zoe stared at him, struggling to breathe. "You mean..."
He nodded, eyes shining with something between pride and regret. "Zoe... Stacy loves you. She always has. You're not just part of her life—you are her life. And I see that now." His voice caught, but he kept going. "I wasn't sure before. I didn't understand. But I do now. And I want to be there—not in the way, not behind—with you both." He took a breath, steadying himself. "So... will you marry my daughter? Will you let me stand beside you as family?"
The words hit Zoe like a rush of wind, fragile and unreal. Tears blurred her vision as she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. For a long moment, she couldn't speak—then she nodded, sobs shaking her shoulders.
He reached across the table, his hand covering hers. "Thank you, Zoe," he said softly.
Zoe's voice softened as she finished telling the story, the morning light flickering gently between them.
"That's how it all happened," she said. "Your dad came to me. He wanted to make things right—for you, for us."
Stacy stood quietly for a moment, letting the words sink in. Her heart was full—too full—and somewhere between relief and disbelief, a small, trembling smile formed.
"I never thought he'd change," Stacy whispered, eyes glassy. "But maybe... maybe we both needed time to understand what love really means."
Zoe reached up, her thumb brushing lightly along Stacy's jawline. "Did you ever talk to him? After the wedding?"
Stacy nodded slowly. "I did."
The memory of that night came back to her as she began to tell Zoe.
The reception was still alive with soft music and laughter. Fairy lights glimmered through the garden, and guests danced beneath the stars. Stacy had slipped away for a breath of quiet, the cool night air brushing her skin as she stood at the edge of the terrace, champagne glass cradled loosely in her hand. That's where her father found her.
He hesitated before speaking. "You look beautiful tonight, sweetheart."
She turned, her smile small but genuine. "Thank you, Dad."
For a moment, silence hung between them—heavy but tender, like an old wound that had finally stopped bleeding.
"I know I can't undo the hurt I caused—not with a wedding, not with words," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "But I had to start somewhere. And giving you this... giving you Zoe, the life you chose—I knew it was the only place I could begin."
Stacy met his gaze, her fingers tightening around the glass, anchoring herself to the moment. The soft lights from the reception flickered behind them, wrapping them in golden shadows.
"I admit I was angry," she said, her voice low and steady. "Not just for what you did to me and Zoe... but for all the years I spent trying to be the daughter you wanted. And still, it never felt like I was enough."
Her father's face crumpled, tears welling in his eyes. "Oh, Stacy... I was proud. I just didn't know how to show it. I thought I was protecting you—giving you a life without struggle or disappointment. But all I did was become the one thing you needed protection from."
She blinked back a tear. "You didn't just hurt me, Dad. You hurt Zoe too. You made me feel like I had to choose between being your daughter and being myself."
He stepped closer, voice trembling. "I know. And I will carry that regret every day. Every harsh word, every silence, every moment I made you feel less than worthy—I wish I could take it all back. I can't. But I see you now. Both of you. And I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner."
The night breeze stirred the garden leaves, soft and forgiving.
"When Zoe agreed to talk to me, I expected anger, maybe even hatred," he said. "But still chose to hear me out, because she loves you. And in that love, I finally saw what I'd been blind to—a love that doesn't demand you shrink yourself. For the first time, I understood."
Stacy's jaw trembled, her heart softening.
Her father's voice broke. "You were always enough, Stacy. More than I deserved. I'm not asking you to forget what happened. But if there's room in your heart for me, I want to be your father again—the one you deserved all along."
Tears streamed freely now, and Stacy spoke with the ache of years left unspoken. "I needed you, Dad. Not the expectations or the legacy. Just... you."
He closed the distance, wrapping her gently in his arms. "I'm here. As your father, and as the man who will spend the rest of his life making it right."
For a moment, Stacy hesitated—then she melted into the embrace. It was fragile, imperfect forgiveness, but it was real.
And for the first time in years, it didn't feel heavy.
It felt like healing.
As Stacy finished telling the memory, her voice softened, her eyes still distant with the weight of it.
A warm breeze drifted in from the ocean, lifting a strand of Zoe's hair—it brushed against Stacy's cheek, a featherlight touch that pulled her gently from the memory. Zoe was still nestled in her arms, listening quietly.
Zoe pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm glad you got that moment with him," she whispered. "You deserved it."
"Me too," Stacy said, leaning her head against Zoe's shoulder. "It feels like... everything's finally where it's supposed to be."
Zoe nestled closer, resting her lips gently against Stacy's hair. "It is," she murmured, her voice full of quiet certainty.
The morning sun warmed their skin, and below them, the sea stretched out endless and bright—like their new beginning.