Rowan and Holly Kane had always known their love story would be measured not just in years, but in the small, ordinary moments that made up a life. Some nights, when the house was quiet and the children slept, they let themselves drift back—remembering through their own eyes how it had all unfolded, how love had healed old wounds and built something stronger than either of them had imagined alone.

It started one December evening, twenty-five years after that first mistletoe ...