We took long walks under covered bridges, pushing the stroller slowly along dirt roads. We napped while the baby was sleeping, and ate picnic lunches in the backyard, our daughter between us on the blanket as we gazed down at the miracle we’d created together.
Gabriel sat down in the chair next to me and stared out at the small sliver of daylight just emerging over the trees.
Light. Hope.
“Maybe we’ll go into town for dinner tonight?” he asked.
I smiled and nodded. “That sounds nice.”
“Want me to take her?”
I would have held Mila all day, but I loved to see Gabriel holding her, too, so I nodded and handed her over. He cradled her gently, gazing down into her sleeping face, and I drank in the look of loving reverence in his eyes. Sometimes watching them together filled my heart so full so suddenly, I had to suck in a breath or it felt like my lungs might collapse beneath the pressure. The overwhelming love.
He ran a hand over the small amount of peach fuzz on her head and smiled over at me. “I still think it’s yours,” he said, referring to the color of her hair.
I laughed softly. “We’ll have to wait for a few more strands to grow in before we can tell.” I loved him just for his wishful thinking, for making me feel so beautiful, not just my body, or my face, or my hair, but my heart and soul.
The man who had loved me unwaveringly.
So unfailingly. The man who’d loved me enough to wait for me to love myself.
The man who’d helped me become solid again, whole. And just as importantly, the man who’d helped me see that there was even beauty in the missing places.
The sun continued to rise, casting its light over the earth, brightening the darkness and chasing away the shadows of what had been. And every single day, it reminded me that though life could be lonely and painful, it was also filled with rainbows on water, with fields of daffodils, and angels that emerged from rock. It was filled with delicate flowers that, against all odds, found the strength to turn their faces to the sunshine and thrive. It was filled with miracles that arrived when you least expected them and the hard-won knowledge that healing, like stone, is just sand and pressure and time.
Acknowledgments
So many people helped me bring this story to life. I couldn’t have done it without you.
First and foremost, to Angela Smith who read the first three chapters of this story and gave me direction and confidence. I will never forget the image in my mind of you reading on your Kindle in a hospital room chair. Thank you for always making time for me.
To Marion Archer whose guidance and support is invaluable. And who always pushes me to make people cry just a little bit more.
Thank you to Karen Lawson who gifted me with Karen’s-Book-of-Knowledge yet again. I will never be able to do without it.
Gratitude to my beta readers, Elena Eckmeyer, Cat Bracht, and Michelle Finkle. I value your input so very much.
Special thanks to Amy Pierpont for your care and great attention to detail. The focus and thought you put in to editing this story will forever be appreciated. Your feedback helped make me a better storyteller and a better writer and that is a true gift.
Thank you to Madeleine Colavita for your expertise and for making this story shine.
The entire Forever team has been wonderful to work with. Thank you for making my first traditional publishing experience such a good one.
Immense gratitude to Kimberly Brower, the best agent in the universe. Thank you for being my champion and always having all the answers.
To you, the reader, thank you for choosing to spend your time with my story when there are so many others out there. Thank you for recommending my books to others, for your unending support, and the lovely messages I treasure.
Thank you to Mia’s Mafia. You all mean the world to me. And! It’s where the Platinum Pearl was born! (Thank you, Nelle Obrien).
To all the bloggers, tweeters, Instagrammers, and book groups, thank you for spreading the love for my books with your reviews, your messages, your tweets, the beautiful teasers, and amazing staged photos. I couldn’t be more thankful.
And to my husband, you. Most of all, you.
About the Author
Mia Sheridan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her passion is weaving true love stories about people destined to be together. Mia lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, with her husband. They have four children here on earth and one in heaven.
Learn more at:
MiaSheridan.com
Twitter, @MSheridanAuthor
Instagram, @MiaSheridanAuthor
Facebook.com/MiaSheridanAuthor
Mia Sheridan, Most of All You
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