Stevie? Nothing to miss. He sold Fleurish, turning a very nice profit, and moved out to Denver three years ago with his love and life partner, Darren. They live a grand total of five miles from me and Garrett and I see him almost every day.

Stepping out on the back deck, I do a quick survey of my kingdom…of my living legacies sitting all around. My oldest, Felicity, so beautiful at age thirty-six, and the spitting image of her daughter, who I hold in my arms. Her husband, Ian, a funny Brit she met in college, sitting by her side and bouncing their son, Elijah, on his knee.

My eyes slide left, seeing my son, Mark, in a deep discussion with Stevie and Darren. He just turned thirty-two last week, as a matter of fact, and no doubt he and Stevie are arguing about politics. They are polar opposites when it comes to fiscal issues, but on the flip side, they are perfectly aligned on the social agenda. Mark is a pediatrician and practices here in Denver, and he’s so busy, he never dates. I’m despaired of ever getting grandchildren out of him.

Finally, my eyes land on Lucas, our last child. He’s thirty-one, and yes, we banged him out quickly after Mark, because we had set our limit at three. He has dark brown hair, just like his father, but has my murkier green eyes…more hazel than anything. Savannah, his wife, sits cuddled on his lap, and he rubs his hand over her swollen belly. Grandchild number three, and I cannot wait to see that little monkey.

Stepping down off the deck, I walk over and hand Felicity to her mother. Then I turn and walk over to the love of my life.

Garrett is still gorgeously handsome. He works out every day and still wears his hair a little long. His temples are streaked with some silver, but his eyes are still as bright and young as the day I met him.

Our life here in Denver is quiet. After he retired from hockey, he ended up going to college to get his degree and now teaches high school English. I’m not sure he’ll ever retire from that, and it keeps him busy. I work part-time at a local flower shop, something I’ve continued to dabble in over the years. I took time off when the kids were younger, especially because of the way Garrett traveled so much for his career. We both felt it was important to keep them grounded.

My gaze captures Garrett’s and he gives me a sly smile, crooking his finger at me. He’s sitting in front of a large cake with the words Happy 40th Anniversary written on it in large, scripted letters.

I reach my husband and crawl straight onto his lap, relishing in the feel of his strong arms as they go around me.

“Hey, hot mama,” he whispers in my ear. “I missed you.”

I tilt my head and give him a soft kiss…a lingering kiss. “Hey, stud,” I tell him with a smile, and Stevie calls out, “Hey…you two get a room.”

Garrett leans his head up and calls out over me. “We will…as soon as you all get the hell out of our house.”

Everyone laughs, including me, and I snuggle deeper into his embrace.

I’m feeling great. I’m healthy and whole.

My lymphoma was beaten into remission by Dr. Yoffman and has recurred only once, and that was more than twenty-five years ago. It scared the hell out of the kids, but somehow…somehow I just knew it was going to be okay. By then we were in Denver, and my oncologist here suggested a bone-marrow transplant.

I knew it was going to be okay because I had Garrett by my side. He never once let me feel sorry for myself, and because he was retired from hockey, and because he had more flexibility in his work schedule, he was able to finally be the one and only to take care of me throughout it all. It made him feel good. It made me feel better.

“And here we are,” he says as he kisses my temple.

“Forty years. Can you believe it?”

“Seems like just yesterday we were hopping into bed on our first date. You were quite the seductress.”

“Still am,” I affirm.

“That you are,” he says in a low rumble, a sound that never fails to make my heart race.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” I tell him. “Best forty years of my life.”

“Best of mine too. And we still have a lot of living still to do.”

“Yes, we do, my love. Yes we do.”