One evening, Arthur sat between them on the sofa. “Dad, when are you going to marry Elena so she can be my mom for real?” Andrew and Elena looked at each other, both blushing. “We’re working on it, Artie,” Andrew smiled, taking Elena’s hand. “We’re working on it.”
Six months later, they had a small ceremony in the backyard under the oak trees. There were no socialites, no luxury car parades—just a few friends, Gail, and a very happy nine-year-old boy holding the rings. Andrew realized that the best decision he ever made wasn’t a business deal; it was finally listening to the heart of his son.
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