Parker

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Seven years after Bowen proposed…

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A light summer breeze carried the scent of freshly mown grass through the park, lifting strands of my hair off my shoulders. The tall oak trees provided just the right amount of dappled sunlight. Warmth radiated through my chest.

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Lainey, our precious eight-month-old daughter, sat on the king-size sheet beside me, chewing on a toy. We lounged on the same sheet Bowen brought on our first picnic eight years ago. He’d never been able to wash the grass stains out of it, and so it had become our traditional picnic blanket. It was fraying at the edges, which brought a gentle smile to my face. It had seen a lot of happy times.

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Sure—between my inheritance and Bowen’s millions, we could take the kids on vacations anywhere around the world. But we wanted them to appreciate the simple pleasures in life, like family picnics in the park and play dates with their friends.

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Some things never changed, though. Eric and his team were around us somewhere, invisible. Having children made me understand my parents’ concern for my safety. Although the media attention had died down, I was still known as Benjamin Wells’ daughter.

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“Mommy, look!” I turned my gaze to Ethan, our almost five-year-old son. Tall for his for his age, his skinny legs pumped as fast as they could to keep up with Bowen. He had Bowen’s determination in his eyes, that same spark of competitiveness I’d seen on the ice countless times.

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“I’m watching, sweetie,” I called, catching Lainey, who had toppled over and begun to crawl off the sheet into the dirt and lawn. She babbled happily, her tiny hands reaching out to grab at the soft grass. I plopped her down on her diapered butt and handed her another toy, hoping it would keep her entertained for a bit. I returned my attention to the soccer game.

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Bowen grinned at Ethan, then passed the ball to him with just enough force to challenge him but not so much that he’d lose control. Ethan caught it with his foot and immediately started dribbling, his face scrunched up in concentration. Even though Ethan had inherited his natural athleticism from his father, my chest puffed out, pride expanding my lungs. But give me a ball—any kind of ball—and I was a danger to myself and others.

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“Good job, Ethan!” Bowen cheered. It was a simple game, but Ethan took it seriously. I couldn’t help but laugh at how much like his father he was already.

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As I set out sandwiches, chips, fruit, and drinks, I glanced up at them again. Ethan was getting a little more aggressive with his kicks, clearly frustrated that he couldn’t keep the ball away from his dad for long. I could see the tension building in his shoulders, and my heart twinged with concern.

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Bowen, ever the patient dad, was letting Ethan lead, but I knew how easily our son’s frustration could turn into a full-blown meltdown. I wanted this to be a fun, relaxing afternoon, but the competitive streak in Ethan was threatening to derail that.

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“Ethan, remember, it’s just a game,” I called out, trying to keep my voice light and encouraging. “We’re here to have fun, okay?”

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But Ethan wasn’t having it. He furrowed his brow and, with a determined huff, kicked the ball as hard as he could. It sailed past Bowen, who exaggerated his surprise, making Ethan giggle. But when Bowen kicked it back, Ethan missed it entirely, tripping over his feet and landing in the grass with a frustrated cry.

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Before I could move, Bowen was there, scooping Ethan up and brushing the grass off his clothes. “Hey, buddy, it’s okay. You’re doing great,” Bowen said gently, but Ethan wasn’t so easily consoled. He shoved Bowen’s hands away, tears welling up in his eyes.

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I sighed, and a knot tightened in my chest. This was supposed to be a nice, relaxing day, and now it felt like it was slipping away. I wanted to step in, but Bowen caught my eye and gave me a small, reassuring smile. Bowen had come a long way and now smiled and laughed freely.

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“Let me try something,” he mouthed to me, and I nodded, trusting him to handle it.

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Bowen kneeled to Ethan’s level, gently taking his small hands in his. “Buddy, do you know what the best part of today is?”

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Ethan sniffled; his big brown eyes still watery as he looked up at his dad. “What?”

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“The best part,” Bowen said, “is that we get to play together. It doesn’t matter who wins or loses. What matters is that we’re having fun. And I gotta say, I’m having a lot of fun playing with you.”

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Ethan’s frown softened, and I could see him thinking it over. Bowen pulled him into a hug, whispering something in his ear that made Ethan giggle again, the strain slowly melting away.

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I smiled, and the knot in my chest loosened. Bowen had always had a way with Ethan, knowing just what to say to turn things around.

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“Why don’t we take a break and have some lunch?” I suggested, trying to redirect his focus. “I’ve got your favorite—peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

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Ethan’s eyes lit up at the mention of his favorite food, and he finally let go of his frustration. “Okay, Mommy!” he said, running over to the blanket and plopping down beside Lainey, who squealed in delight at the sight of her big brother.

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Bowen walked over, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek as he sat down next to me.

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“You’re amazing,” I whispered, grateful for the way he’d handled the situation.

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“Team effort,” he replied with a wink, grabbing a PBJ and handing it to Ethan.

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As we sat there, enjoying our picnic under the shade of the oak tree, a wave of contentment washed over me. Sure, it wasn’t always easy—parenting never was—but moments like this, where we could come together as a family, made it all worth it.

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Lainey babbled happily, gnawing on a banana, while Ethan chatted animatedly about how next time, he was going to beat Daddy at soccer. Bowen chuckled beside me, and I couldn’t help but smile.

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It wasn’t a perfect day. It was a real one—filled with laughter, a few tears, and a lot of love. And as I leaned into Bowen’s side, I knew there was no place I’d rather be than right there, in that moment, with my family.

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I reached over and took Bowen’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” I whispered.

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“For what?” he asked, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

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“For making this our love story.”

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He smiled, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Baby, you said ‘Yes.’”