Chapter 8 - The Sanctuary on the Sound
By the following summer, Harrison and I purchased a home together.
It was a magnificent, rambling late-Victorian house sitting on a low cliff overlooking Long Island Sound, an hour’s drive from Manhattan. It had a wraparound porch, high ceilings, a wide kitchen with an open hearth, and a large garden filled with wild hydrangeas and old apple trees.
It was our sanctuary.
We spent our weekends away from the operating rooms, trading our white coats for comfortable cotton linen, planting herb gardens, and swimming in the cool salt water of the Sound.
It was a warm Saturday evening in July. The sun was setting over the water, painting the sky in brilliant strokes of violet, copper, and rose gold.
Copper, our Irish Setter, was lying on the grass near the edge of the porch, lazily watching the gulls fly over the waves.
I stood by the wooden railing of the porch, holding a glass of chilled white wine, wearing a simple linen dress that blew softly in the sea breeze.
Behind me, the screen door clicked open.
Harrison walked out onto the porch. He was wearing dark jeans and an unbuttoned white shirt, his silver-dappled hair catching the warm amber light of the setting sun. He carried two small plates of fresh grilled fish and peach salad he had prepared in the kitchen.
“The tide is high,” Harrison noted, setting the plates down on the outdoor wooden table. He walked over to stand behind me, wrapping his long arms securely around my waist and resting his chin against my shoulder.
I leaned back against his broad chest, letting out a long, contented sigh. “It’s perfect, Harrison.”
“It is,” he agreed softly, pressing his lips against the warm skin of my neck.
For several long minutes, we stood together in complete, easy silence, watching the light fade over the calm water.
“I spoke with Marcus today,” Harrison murmured against my ear.
“Oh?” I turned slightly in his arms to look at his face. “What does the chief want now?”
“He wants to retire next year,” Harrison said, his amber eyes twinkling with quiet pride. “He’s formally recommending you to the board as his replacement. You’re going to be the Chief of Surgery at St. Jude’s, Gwen.”
I blinked, taking a small, breathy step back. Chief of Surgery. The highest surgical position in one of the premier hospital systems in the country. A role I had dreamed of since my residency days at Johns Hopkins.
“Are you serious?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course I’m serious,” Harrison smiled, reaching out to take both my hands in his. “There isn't a surgeon in New York who possesses your skill, your composure, or your leadership. You earned this, Gwen. Every single step of the way.”
I looked into his eyes—eyes that held no jealousy, no insecurity, no desire to diminish my success to make himself feel larger. Only absolute, unwavering love and pride.
“And what about Baltimore?” I asked softly.
“We’ve established a phenomenal team there,” Harrison explained smoothly, stepping closer to pull me back against his chest. “I’m handing the daily trauma direction to Dr. Miller next month. I’ll be taking a consulting role, which means...” He paused, his smile widening. “...I’m moving my primary practice to New York full-time. So I can be near my wife.”
I froze.
I looked down.
Harrison had dropped down onto one knee on the weathered cedar planks of the porch.
From his pocket, he pulled a small, dark wooden box carved with delicate floral patterns. He opened it, revealing a stunning, understated ring featuring a clear, brilliant sapphire set in a band of brushed platinum.
“Gwen Abernathy,” Harrison said, his deep voice carrying a tremor of raw, beautiful emotion. “You are the strongest, most brilliant, and most incredible woman I have ever known. I don't want a trophy. I don't want an audience. I want a partner. I want to build a life with you, face every storm beside you, and grow old in this house with you. Will you marry me?”
Tears—not of pain, not of grief, but of pure, overflowing joy—welled up in my eyes, tracing clean, warm paths down my cheeks.
I dropped down onto my knees beside him on the porch floor, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck.
May you like
“Yes,” I whispered into his ear, my voice thick with love. “Yes, Harrison. Absolutely yes.”
He slipped the sapphire ring onto my finger, pulling me into a deep, passionate kiss as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, filling the evening air with the sweet, steady music of the sea.
