Blake’s sudden shout startled the entire restaurant. “He did it again!” he yelled, bolting from the table and leaving me frozen in confusion.
For a moment, everything felt surreal. My fork hovered midair, and the cozy glow of candlelight around us dimmed as worry took over. What was happening? Why was Blake shouting?
The night had started perfectly. Blake and I were celebrating our one-year anniversary, a milestone I’d been counting down to for weeks. My parents, as always, had been lifesavers, coming along to watch my 4-year-old son, Liam, while Blake and I enjoyed a romantic dinner. They sat a few feet away, entertaining Liam at a separate table while we indulged in the rare luxury of uninterrupted conversation.
The restaurant’s ambiance was dreamy, with soft lighting, laughter, and clinking glasses filling the air. I’d even worn Blake’s favorite red dress—the one he said made me “look like magic.”
Yet, something was off about him. He fidgeted constantly, twisting his napkin and scanning the room as if on edge. I asked if he was okay, but his replies were vague.
“It’s just… a feeling,” he muttered when I pressed him, offering me a tight smile. I let it go, unsure of what to make of his unease.
The dinner carried on with small hiccups. Blake’s questions to the waiter about security cameras and outdoor seating struck me as strange, but I brushed them off. He was probably nervous—perhaps about the significance of the evening.
And then Liam’s toy car drifted into my peripheral vision, floating in the pool outside. Before I fully grasped what was happening, Blake had sprinted toward the water, shouting those haunting words: “He did it again!”
Time slowed as I turned toward the pool, my heart dropping into my stomach. Liam was there, flailing, his little arms splashing in desperation. My mind flashed back to a terrifying moment from nearly a year ago: Liam jumping into a friend’s pool after his ball, completely unaware of the danger. Blake had saved him then, diving in without hesitation.
And now, here we were again.
Blake reached the pool before anyone else could react, diving in fully clothed. My feet were moving before I realized it, racing toward the water as Blake surfaced with Liam in his arms. Relief flooded me as I saw Liam coughing and crying but otherwise unharmed.
“Mama!” Liam wailed as I reached for him, wrapping him in my arms. Tears blurred my vision as I whispered reassurances, my voice trembling.
Blake climbed out of the pool, dripping and breathless, but his eyes were steady as they met mine. “He’s okay,” he said softly, brushing Liam’s wet hair back.
“Thank you,” I managed, my words choked with emotion. “Thank you.”
The relief in Blake’s face was evident, but just as the tension began to lift, he turned back to the pool. Without a word, he dove in again.
“What are you doing?!” I yelled, panic gripping me anew. Blake didn’t respond. He disappeared beneath the water, emerging moments later empty-handed, only to dive again. The small crowd that had gathered watched in stunned silence, their whispers filling the air.
On his third attempt, Blake resurfaced holding something shiny. He climbed out of the pool, water cascading from his clothes, and walked toward me. His expression was unreadable as he dropped to one knee.
The world seemed to stand still. My parents gasped audibly, and the onlookers fell silent.
Blake opened his hand, revealing a sparkling ring. “Liam thinks I’m his hero,” he began, his voice trembling. “But I want to be yours too. Forever.”
My breath hitched. “Blake…”
“I love you,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “And I love Liam. You’re my family. Will you marry me?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I laughed through the overwhelming emotion. “Yes,” I said, my voice breaking. “Yes!”
Cheers erupted around us. My mom sobbed into a tissue, while my dad clapped Blake on the back. Liam, oblivious to the magnitude of the moment, clapped along, giggling. “Mama’s happy!” he exclaimed, his grin infectious.
Blake slid the ring onto my finger, his hands still trembling. “You’re stuck with me now,” he said, his smile crooked but filled with love.
“Good,” I whispered, my voice steadying. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The night ended in a blur of warmth and laughter. My parents apologized for the close call, guilt etched on their faces, but I reassured them. “Blake saved him,” I said simply. “That’s all that matters.”
As we drove home, Liam dozed off in his car seat, clutching his toy car. I couldn’t stop staring at the ring on my finger, its sparkle catching the glow of passing streetlights.
Blake reached over, taking my hand in his. “You okay?” he asked softly.
“More than okay,” I replied, my voice thick with gratitude and love.
The ring was beautiful, but the real treasure was the man driving us home—the one who had saved my son not once but twice and who had given me a future I couldn’t wait to begin.
