Epilogue #2
Callum stood at the outdoor stove wearing an apron that looked far too domestic on him—dark fabric tied loosely at his waist, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from probably an early dip into the pool.
He was focused, turning something in a pan with the kind of concentration he usually reserved for when he went down on her, and it was absurd how natural he looked doing it.
The sexiest chef alive, she thought instantly, and almost laughed at herself.
Her mother was beside him, moving around the kitchen space with effortless familiarity, correcting him every now and then with a quick gesture or a comment in Spanish that made him shake his head and smile.
Her father, on the other hand, had upgraded his hobby for photography into video and was now recording everything that moved.
The rest of them were already scattered across the patio.
Sofia had discarded the board and was sitting cross-legged on a chair, hair still wild from the surf, talking animatedly to Ilias, who had one arm draped behind her chair and the other resting protectively over her stomach whenever he remembered.
He was grinning in that quiet, content way of someone who had just won something bigger than a trophy and still hadn’t fully processed it.
Amira was helping Gabriella set the table, moving plates and glasses around while pretending not to notice Carlos lingering nearby, hands shoved into his pockets, watching Amira like she was both an answer and a problem he didn’t know how to solve.
Amira, for her part, kept her attention anywhere but on him, sharper than the sun reflecting off the glass.
Asma and Leif leaned into each other at the edge of the terrace, half-eating, half-kissing, completely unaware of anyone else’s existence. Leif murmured something against her temple that made her laugh into his shoulder, and Asma swatted him lightly without any real conviction.
Even Sofia’s mother and Gabriella’s twins had taken over a corner of the patio, the twins running barefoot between chairs while Maria tried—unsuccessfully—to keep them from stealing strawberries off the table.
It was loud. Chaotic. Warm.
Alive.
Alejandra stood there for a second taking it all in, still slightly damp, board tucked under her arm, salt drying on her skin.
And then Callum looked up.
He wiped his hands on a towel, walked straight toward her, and for a moment everything else blurred into background noise.
“Feliz cumpleanos, cariad,” he whispered, close enough that only she could hear it, with that weird English accent in his Spanish that made her love him even more.
Before she could answer, he kissed her. Like he had all the time in the world.
Something in her chest loosened immediately.
People clapped. Someone whooped—probably Ilias. Her mother laughed. Amira raised her glass. Even Carlos managed a faint smile that looked like it hurt him to produce. And his father recorded everything.
One by one, they all came to her.
Sofia hugged her first, tight and emotional, whispering something about “finally relaxing for once in your life” into her ear.
Ilias followed pressing a kiss to her cheek like she was family in the most natural sense of the word.
Amira hugged her briefly but sincerely, her expression softer than usual, before stepping away again as Carlos hovered awkwardly in the background.
Her mother held her longer than anyone else, one hand pressed firmly between her shoulder blades like she was making sure she was real.
Her father came last, camera still in his hands, eyes softer than she was used to seeing them. He kissed her forehead before sitting down, tuning the strings with quiet focus.
And then they started singing.
“Cumpleanos feliz…”
The sound wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t polished. It overlapped with laughter, clinking glasses, the twins shouting mid-verse, and someone—probably Ilias—sneaking in an off-key harmony just to make Sofia laugh.
But it was hers.
Alejandra sat down on the edge of the chair, and Callum slid in beside her almost immediately, as if it was instinct. She leaned into his shoulder without thinking, and he adjusted slightly so she could rest comfortably against him.
For a moment, she just watched them all. All these people who had somehow become her life. She thought about Pipeline, the reef, the moment everything could have ended.
And instead—
this.
Not a return to what she had been before.
Something new entirely. Maybe the injury hadn’t been the end.
Maybe it had been something else—an ugly, brutal interruption that forced her into a different current.
A rebirth she hadn’t understood at the time.
Maybe getting out of that reef hadn’t just saved her life.
Maybe it had changed the direction of it completely.
She closed her eyes for a second, letting the song wash over her, letting the sun warm her skin, letting the sound of their laughter stitch itself into memory.
When she opened them again, Callum was already looking at her. Like he had chosen this version of her too. And for the first time, she didn’t feel like she was standing between identities.
Two-time USL champion.
Olympic medalist.
Surfer.
Daughter. Friend. Lover.
Or just Alejandra.
All of them were true.
And for the first time, they didn’t feel like they were fighting each other.