Epilogue
Six Months Later
Spencer
I stride into Dr. Klein’s office, hidden behind an enormous bouquet of flowers. Today’s bittersweet—it’s our last session together as doctor and patient, and I wanted to say thank you properly.
Anna, her assistant, looks up as I approach the desk. As always, a deep blush creeps over her cheeks.
“G-good afternoon, Mr. Barton-Jones,” she stammers. “Dr. Klein is available. You can go straight in.”
I give her my best easy smile.
“Thank you, Anna.”
I’ve never understood why she gets so flustered around me. I’ve only ever been polite, but some habits die hard.
I knock lightly on the doctor’s door, waiting for the familiar call of, “Come in.”
Carefully maneuvering the flowers through the doorway, I grin as she gasps in delight.
“Spencer, they’re beautiful—but you’ve already given so much,” she says warmly. “You didn’t need to do this. You’ve paid for my time.”
“What you’ve given me, is worth far more than money.”
She stands and kisses my cheek—a gesture that would have shocked me a year ago, back when I first sat in this office, tense and unsure. Now, she’s not just my psychologist—she’s a friend.
“You look well,” she says, smiling at me with fond approval. “How was Asia?”
“Incredible,” I say, taking my seat opposite her. “There’s so much beauty out there, so many cultures . . . and yet, you know what struck me most? The people with the least often seem the happiest.”
She leans in, curious.
“We stayed in southern Sri Lanka for two weeks,” I continue. “Have you ever been?”
She shakes her head.
“One evening, our housekeeper, Chandana, invited us to join his family at their temple. It was a special night for them. The congregation was so welcoming. They all carried armfuls of flowers and wore flower wreathes around their necks.”
I can’t help but smile at the memory of the scene. Then, a vision of Lily covered in flowers over her white dress pops into my mind.
“Lily spent hours that evening playing with one of the staff’s nieces.
They couldn’t speak the same language, but that didn’t seem to matter.
The next day, the little girl came to our villa to play again.
She had no shoes. Lily noticed and, without saying a word, sat down and unbuckled her own sandals, carrying them over to her new friend.
The girl shook her head, smiling proudly, and Chandana translated: ‘No, these are yours. One day I’ll have my own shoes.
’ She had nothing, yet still that radiant smile shone.
It made me wonder how many Western kids would do the same. ”
The doctor’s eyes soften. “You’re teaching her compassion, Spencer. That’s wonderful.”
My shoulders tilt in a shrug, a little embarrassed. I’m not sure why I told her that story, but it certainly wasn’t for praise. “I think she taught me more that day than I taught her.”
Dr. Klein smiles knowingly. “And how was it being with Sophie and Lily the whole time?”
“Blissful,” I reply without hesitation. “I’ve never been so relaxed.”
Her grin widens. “I wish I’d taken a photo of you when you first walked into my office. The difference is night and day.”
I chuckle and glance down, trying—and failing—to hide the grin tugging at my mouth.
“What’s that look about?” she teases.
I glance up. “We won’t be traveling anywhere tropical for a while.”
She frowns, confused, until I add, “Sophie’s pregnant.”
The doctor’s face lights up, her shoulders dropping in genuine joy.
“Oh, Spencer, that’s wonderful news. Congratulations. I know how much you wanted this.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, warmth filling my chest. “She’s over the moon too. Only ten weeks along, so it’s not public yet, but Sophie gave me permission to tell you today.”
“I’m honored,” Dr. Klein says with a warm nod. “Is Carlo aware?”
I laugh. “Yes. I got into trouble for telling him before the scan. Sophie’s a little superstitious.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep the fondness out of my voice.
“Well,” she says, smiling, “please give her my very best wishes.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She tilts her head. “And Carlo? Last time we spoke, you were hoping he’d move back to London.”
“He has,” I say. “He’s living back in the apartment near Canary Wharf. I spend a night with him every two weeks. It works—we have time together, but he still has his independence.”
“And the three of you?” she asks gently. “Back to a throuple?”
I shake my head. “Not really. We’ve had two or three . . . moments,” I admit with a small grin, “but mostly Sophie and Carlo keep their own space. It’s better this way. We’re all happier for it.”
Dr. Klein leans back in her chair, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
“I have to say, Spencer, seeing you like this.” She gestures toward me. “You seem content, grounded. It’s exactly what I hoped for you when we first met.”
Her words hit something deep inside me—a mix of gratitude and disbelief. If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be here, married, expecting another baby, building bridges I thought were forever burned—I wouldn’t have believed them.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t think I’d have found my way here without you.”
She gives a modest tilt of her chin, but her eyes say she’s pleased.
“You just needed someone to guide you on the right path, Spencer. You did the major work.”
I open my mouth to reply, but my phone buzzes on the arm of the chair. Seeing Carlo’s name flashing on the screen, my stomach tightens. He know I’m in session, so if he’s calling, something’s wrong.
“Sorry,” I mutter, already answering. “Carlo? Everything okay?”
“Spence!”
His voice is shaky but urgent.
“Carlo, what’s wrong?”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until Dr. Klein’s gaze flicks to me, concerned.
“She’s alive, Compagno.”
“What?”
There’s a long pause, and when he finally spits it out, the words hit like a punch to the gut.
“She’s alive, Spence. Chess is alive.”
The words slam into me like a fist to the chest. My breath catches, ragged, as disbelief wars with fury. Thirteen years of mourning, thirteen years of watching Carlo destroyed by loss—only for this? Only for it to come out now?
“What are you talking about?”
I stay rooted to the spot, my phone still pressed to my ear, as he sobs.
“Where are you?”
It takes him a moment to catch his breath.
“The club,” he whispers.
“Stay there. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He makes a rough noise in his throat—approval, I think—and I tap to end the call before I second-guess myself.
Chess.
Not dead.
My vision tunnels, sound muffled as if someone’s shoved me underwater. All those years of wasted grief, the broken pieces of him that were only loosely glued together just enough to survive—obliterated in one breath. My hands are shaking so violently I almost drop the phone.
I drag in a breath that doesn’t fill my lungs and shove a palm against the wall, fighting to stay upright. Rage and hope and disbelief churn in my gut, a storm that threatens to tear me apart.
My first thought isn’t even about me—it’s Carlo. The pain he’s in right now. How the hell is he surviving this?
“Spencer?”
I snap my head up. Dr. Klein’s standing a few feet away, concern etched on her face, her usual calm presence now sharpened with worry.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says softly, stepping closer but keeping her tone gentle, coaxing.
I force air into my lungs, but it tastes like ash.
“Maybe I have,” I rasp, my voice raw, shaking my head. “Christ . . . I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”
She reaches out but doesn’t touch me, letting me choose.
“Do you want to sit down?”
I rake a hand through my hair, pacing like a caged animal, adrenaline tearing through me.
“No. I need to find Carlo. Because if what he’s just told me is true . . .” My voice cracks, fury and desperation colliding. “I have no clue what it means.”
“Is there anything I can do?” The doctor asks not pushing for details, but her careful words and steady gaze tell me she’s there if I need her.
“Chess. Carlo’s girlfriend. She’s alive.”
‘Finding Hope’ – Carlo’s story is far from over. With Francesca, old wounds reopen, new desires ignite, and the question remains: can he finally claim the happily ever after he deserves?
Planned release: early 2026
Read on for the Prologue and Chapter One.
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