My father shoved me and my four-year-old daughter into a wedding fountain while my sister's guests laughed.

Spring returned to Connecticut with an explosion of cherry blossoms and green hills.

It was May again—two full years since the day my father had shoved me into the fountain.

Our Greenwich estate was bathed in late afternoon sun. In the courtyard behind the main house, where a beautiful, modern stone birdbath now sat in place of any ornamental fountains, a small gathering of our closest friends had assembled.

There were no reporters. No photographers. No corporate titans jockeying for position.

Just Jonathan Vance, who had become a warm, uncle-like figure to our family; Mrs. Gable; Marcus and his family; and a few close friends from my graduate school days whom I had reconnected with over the past year.

Lily, now six years old, was running through the garden wearing a white lace dress, her hair decorated with tiny wild daisies.

Alexander stood beside me near the stone terrace, wearing a navy linen shirt, holding a glass of sparkling water. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close against his side.

My hands rested gently over my stomach.

Beneath the soft fabric of my floral summer dress, a small, distinct curve had begun to show.

We had learned three weeks ago that we were expecting a boy.

"What are you thinking about, Mrs. Sterling?" Alexander murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my cheek.

"I was thinking about Table 19," I said softly, looking out at the laughter filling our garden.

Alexander paused, his hand gently resting over my stomach, over the new life growing within me. "Does it still hurt?"

"No," I smiled, turning my head to look up into those storm-grey eyes that had become my entire world. "I was thinking that if I hadn't been sat at Table 19, I might never have realized how bright the rest of the world could be."

Lily came galloping up the stone steps, her shoes covered in grass stains, holding a tiny wooden sailboat Alexander had carved for her that morning.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she called out, her voice bright and clear, echoing across the peaceful estate. "Look! It floats! Uncle Jonathan helped me put it in the pond!"

Alexander laughed, kneeling down on one knee as Lily threw herself into his arms, wrapping her small hands around his neck. He picked her up with effortless grace, holding her close against his heart while keeping his other arm anchored securely around me.