It had been a few months since their anniversary.

The cold had melted. Spring was blooming. The air smelled like rain and citrus, and the mansion’s windows were open again, letting in soft winds and birdsong.

You were in the sunroom—reading, half-dozing—when your mama sat beside you.

She didn’t say much at first, just rested her hand lightly on yours.

“Dooshik’s in the garden,” she said quietly. “He’s been waiting for the right time.”

You didn’t look up. “For what?”

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like she used to when you were little. “To explain. To tell you what that night really was. Why I cooked your favorite meals that day. Why he held me. Why it didn’t mean he stopped loving you.”

You blinked slowly, your chest tightening.

“It was the day he was supposed to propose,” she whispered.

Your head turned sharply. “Propose?”

She nodded. “To you.”

The words landed like snowfall—quiet, soft, but heavy. You could barely breathe.

“W-What…?”

“We were planning it together,” she said with a sad smile. “I was never… his forever. I was just keeping him company until you were ready. Until you were grown. Until you understood.”

You stared at her, eyes wide, throat dry.

“I raised you,” she said gently, “because you were mine too. In a different way. But he? He’s always been yours.”

Your heart stammered in your chest. A slow, hot tear slipped down your cheek.

“He thought he scared you off,” she added. “That night. That maybe you saw something that made you think you weren’t enough anymore. But he never stopped waiting, baby. Not for a second.”

You stood on trembling legs.

And then you ran.

Through the halls, past the dining room, the entryway, out into the garden where the roses were waking up again.

There he was.

Dooshik.

Kneeling by a rose bush, wiping soil off his hands, sleeves rolled, his eyes tired—but still soft, still kind, still his.

He looked up as you stopped in front of him, heart pounding.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He smiled, slow and aching. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, baby.”

You fell into his arms, tears rushing now.

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

He shook his head, voice breaking. “You were always the only one.”

You pulled back, cheeks red. “Were you really gonna… propose?”

He nodded.

Then reached into his coat pocket.

And took out a ring box, weathered and warm from being held too long.

He opened it slowly.

It sparkled in the sun, soft silver and lilac stone.

“I never stopped carrying it,” he whispered. “Even when you stopped coming to our dates. Even when you stopped speaking.”

You stared at it, breath caught.

Then smiled.

“I’m ready now,” you whispered.

Dooshik’s hand trembled as he took yours, slipping the ring on your finger.

“You’ll never have to wonder again,” he said, voice full of promise. “I’m yours.”