CHAPTER 8
Two years after the trial, a peaceful spring evening brought a soft, fragrant breeze through the open French doors of my private physical therapy clinic in Arlington.
My business had expanded into three locations across Northern Virginia, catering to elite athletes, military veterans, and trauma recovery patients.
Standing at the reception counter finishing my patient logs was Marcus Vance, a decorated former Army Captain and senior physical therapist who had joined my practice last year.
Marcus was a tall, handsome man with kind brown eyes, a warm smile, and an unshakeable sense of honor that had earned my father's deepest respect.
"You've been working for ten hours straight, Claire," Marcus said gently, placing a cup of hot green tea on my desk. "It's time to go home."
I looked up from my laptop, offering him a warm, genuine smile that reached all the way to my eyes.
"I just wanted to finalize the grant applications for the new shelter clinic in Richmond," I replied, leaning back in my chair.
"The grants are already filed," Marcus smiled, leaning against the wooden desk. "I took care of them two hours ago so you wouldn't have to stress tonight."
I looked at Marcus, feeling a deep, gentle warmth fill my heart—a feeling completely different from the anxiety and fear that had defined my past marriage.
He didn't demand control, he didn't exploit my generosity, and he never hesitated to stand up for me with quiet, powerful strength.
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"Thank you, Marcus," I whispered softly, taking his hand in mine.
"Always, Claire," Marcus replied, gently squeezing my fingers. "You never have to carry everything alone again."
