His mouth dropped open. “You bought a yarmulke?”
She nodded with a smile. “I want you to wear it at Isabelle’s ceremony tonight.”
His lips trembled as he pushed back the emotions that threatened to unman him. “I haven’t … it’s been such a long time …”
Portia put her hand on his forearm where his skin was now bare. Thanks to her, he wasn’t hiding his tattoo anymore and had started wearing short sleeved shirts instead of the long sleeved ones that had served him so well over the last decades.
“You should be proud of who you are.” She gave him a warm smile. “I am.”
Then she reached up and placed the yarmulke on his head. The unfamiliar piece of fabric slid into place right where it belonged, where it had always belonged. Suddenly he felt whole, the one last piece that made him complete finally clicking into place.
Slowly, he stroked his hand over the head cover, but he was too choked up to say a single word. He was free now, free to love and to believe. His faith in the good was restored, because even from evil, something good could emerge. Or someone good.
“Let’s get ready. We don’t want to keep Samson and the others waiting.” Portia caressed his cheek.
“They can’t start without me,” Zane murmured and pulled her against him. “And I have something important to do first.”
“What’s that?” she asked, but the excited flicker in her eyes told him she already knew.
“I have to thank my wife for saving me.”
“But you were the one who saved me,” she protested.
He moved his head from side to side. “No, baby girl, without you, I’d still be lost.”
THE END