The city outside was loud, bustling, and alive, but inside the soaring stone arches, there was only peace.

Down the center aisle walked seven-year-old Sophie, now with a bright pink bow in her dark curls, carefully scattering white rose petals across the polished marble floor from a woven wicker basket.

Behind her walked the bride—wearing a simple, elegant ivory gown that caught the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows.

And standing at the altar, waiting with a quiet, unwavering patience that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with love, was Alexei Petrov.

He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his broad shoulders filling out the jacket perfectly, the silver scar on his jaw half-hidden by a warm, genuine smile that the old Alexei Petrov would have never allowed the world to see.

As I reached the altar, Alexei took my hands in his. His palms were warm, strong, and steady.

“You look breathtaking,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Petrov,” I teased softly.

The ceremony was small, attended only by Dmitri—who looked remarkably uncomfortable in a rented tuxedo—and a few trusted friends who had watched us rebuild our lives from the ashes of a frozen Wisconsin winter.

When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, Alexei didn't hesitate. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me right there in front of God and the city of Chicago, while Sophie cheered loudly from the front pew, waving her own miniature plastic stethoscope in the air like a magic wand.

That evening, back at the sprawling estate in the suburbs—a house filled not with guards and iron gates, but with laughter, open windows, and the smell of baking bread—we sat together on the back patio as the sun dipped below the skyline, painting the clouds in shades of gold and amber.

Sophie sat on Alexei’s lap, carefully examining his chest with her old pink stethoscope while he pretended to cough dramatically.

“Hmm,” Sophie announced, furrowing her brow with total professional seriousness. “Heartbeat is strong. No more bad guys allowed.”

Alexei laughed, wrapping his arms around both of us, pulling us tight against his chest.

“Doctor’s orders,” Alexei smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head as the evening stars began to bloom across the Chicago sky. “And I never break a promise to a doctor.”