Chapter 35 – Epilogue – Rhiannon
“Okay, Dad. Yeah. I can do it. Okay. I’ll call you back.” Rosie hangs up the phone, worry flickering across her pretty face as she bites down on her bottom lip.
“Everything okay?” I ask, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
She sighs softly. “Yeah… I mean, it will be.”
I nod, letting it go. Rosie’s always been more private than me, especially when it comes to work which is what I assume that call was about.
I’ve learned not to push when she’s got that faraway look in her eyes, the one that usually means she’s somewhere between shutting down emotionally and burning her whole life to the ground.
We may be from completely different families, with different upbringings, but having married her brother, I now understand better the pressure that they are under as entertainment lawyers working for their father's firm.
The Prescott’s are guarded, and I can’t blame them. If I’d grown up under Maxwell Prescott’s brand of perfectionism, I’d probably be built from walls and sharp corners too.
But my parents were soft, kind, emotionally in-tune to their children. And despite being taken much too soon, I have always strived to carry those attributes forward.
“Is this the last of the boxes?” I twist side to side, stretching my sore back. My body is reminding me that I’m not as invincible as I used to be and the weight that I'm putting on is starting to settle in.
Rosie chews on her bottom lip again, glancing around her living room. We only carried in five boxes, so there’s no way this is all of it, but she insisted that was all she needed for now.
Ever since she bought her home in Brookhaven eight months ago, she’s been spending more weekends out here by the lake with us.
Still, the house doesn’t feel lived in. It's more like a place she’s visiting, not settling into, and I can't tell whether that's because she's torn between her two lives or if she's struggling to find her place.
I like Rosie. And now that she’s officially my sister-in-law, I love her even more for the way she’s slowly letting me in.
“That’s it for now,” she says finally.
I look around at the mostly empty home. The last owner’s tattered couch still in the corner, the too-loved thrift-store chair we brought mostly because she felt sorry for it.
It’s summer again, which means tourist season in Brookhaven: city people coming in for lake days, loud laughter drifting from docks, boats buzzing across the water and lots of time spent outdoors.
Unfortunately, that hasn’t translated into more business for our thrift store. With every slow week we have, the knot in my chest tightens. And I’m terrified that this might be the last summer we can keep the doors open.
I haven’t told Cain that. Or Rosie. That's a problem for me and Gabriel to work out.
“Can I help you unpack these things?” I ask her.
She opens one of the boxes and pulls out a stack of plates. “No, you should rest. Want me to make you something to eat?”
I shake my head. “Ever since I hit the second trimester, I’ve got my energy back. I can help.”
She smiles shyly. "Okay."
We fall into an easy rhythm, unpacking side by side, me mostly carrying the conversation as I chatter about the nursery that Eden's helping me design in our home and the baby shower that I still need to plan with my cousin.
The boxes are mostly filled with kitchen basics, plates, cups, a few utensils she ordered online and had shipped to the city before bringing them out here so it’s all light and easy work.
We put everything away, wipe down the counters and straighten the thrifted table and chairs we dragged over earlier. Rosie’s been more than generous about furnishing her place with finds from the shop.
It’s different from her sleek apartment in the city which looks a lot like Cains, but it's starting to fit her, and I can tell the mismatched, patchwork of decorations is causing the tension to ease in her shoulders and heart.
“Have I told you lately how much we love having you live close by?” I ask, stacking plates in the cupboard.
She smiles and tucks a strand of dark-blonde hair behind her ear. “I hope it’s not too much. I know I'm over there a lot on the weekends when I’m in town.”
“Are you kidding me? We love it. And once this little one’s here soon, we’ll need their Aunt Rosie around all the time.”
Her smile softens, but there’s a flicker of something else, doubt, maybe.
“I’d love that. Though I’m not sure how much time I’ll have with everything going on at the firm. I have to keep my apartment in the city, unfortunately.”
“Your dad’s still pushing for you to make partner?”
She nods, biting her lip again. “Yeah. And honestly, it’s what I want too. It’s not like I have anything else going on, and it’d be kind of incredible to be the youngest partner in the firm’s history. I've spent my whole life building my career. I think I'm ready for it.”
I reach out and squeeze her arm gently. "If it's what you want, then you'll get it. You’ve got that Prescott grit. Now come on, let’s go back to my place and eat before I pass out.”
She laughs, the tension in her shoulders easing. We load up the car with the empty boxes and make the short drive around the lake, sunlight slipping low behind the trees and reflecting off the dark water.
Our house sits next door to my childhood home where Gabriel and Eden still live; the little place Cain and I have spent almost a year slowly turning into a home. It’s small, creaky, imperfect, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Cain landed from his last work trip to Los Angeles two hours ago, but I haven’t gotten to see him yet.
Even though he’s been cutting back his hours, finally learning that “work-life balance” isn’t a myth and setting real boundaries with his father, he’s still been flying back and forth between California and New York at least every other month.
But soon, that’ll be ending. Because once our son is born, he’s made it clear to Maxwell that someone else will have to take over the travel so that he can be a present and involved father.
Unfortunately, that someone will probably be Rosie.
We walk up the pathway to the house to find Gabriel, Eden, Natasha and her older brother Roman are already inside, playing Go Fish! at the dining room table. The deck doors are propped open, sunlight spilling through, and the smell of grilled meat wafts in from outside.
Cain stands over the grill, tongs in hand, sleeves rolled showing off his forearms that I've always been obsessed with.
“Hi, baby.” His voice softens the second he sees me. He leans down to kiss me, slow and warm. His scent wraps around me and instantly I feel safe and at home. “Everything go okay at Rosie’s house?”
“Yes,” I say, brushing my fingers across his jaw. “But I think you need to talk to her about moving more things into her place here. She hardly has anything in there.”
He shrugs, flipping a burger. “It’s just a weekend place for her right now.”
“But it could be more. If she wanted it to be,” I say quietly.
He exhales; gaze fixed on the lake shimmering beyond the deck. “I know. I want her closer once the babies here. But it might be difficult with the way my dad’s been working her lately.”
“Do you feel responsible for that?”
His jaw flexes. “Yeah. But she insists she’s fine. Says she enjoys it.”
I nod slowly. “She wants to make partner.”
“I know,” he murmurs, lowering the tongs and finally meeting my eyes. “But something tells me my dad’s not going to hand that to her without a price.”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t cost her too much,” I whisper.
He kisses me again; this time his hand instinctively drifts to my belly. He rubs slow circles there, his thumb tracing idle patterns over the curve that’s grown a little more each week.
I love that about him, the way he can’t seem to keep his hands off me. Off us. The way fatherhood has softened him, grounded him, made him shift his priorities and become more him.
Since we got engaged and bought the house here in Brookhaven, everything’s changed.
I quit my cleaning job, and Cain helped me ramp up marketing for my therapy business.
Between that and the thrift store, I finally feel like I have balance while still making enough to contribute to my parents’ debt.
I thought I’d miss the occasional modeling and acting gigs, but I don’t. Cain won’t admit it, but I think he’s a little relieved I haven’t run into anyone like Rebel again too.
The store’s still struggling, but I’m proud of what we’ve built. I’m proud that every chipped mug and donated sweater carries a story. That somehow, through all the chaos, I’ve found a way to carry my parents’ legacy forward. And it's not out of guilt or obligation anymore, but out of love.
I know a day will come when we'll have to let go of the store, but until then I'm going to cling to the last tether that I have to our parents.
“Anyone want sweet tea?” I call over my shoulder.
Eden throws up a thumbs-up without looking away from her cards. I grab a pitcher from the fridge. When I return to the table, I fill a few glasses and linger for a moment, watching the way Rosie laughs softly at something Gabriel said.
There’s color in her cheeks again, and even though her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, it’s something.
Cain wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “How’s it possible that this is our life?” he asks softly.
I smile, leaning into him. “Who knew our place would end up being the cool hangout spot?”
“I did,” Gabriel says with a nod. "As soon as Cain bought that boat, I knew this is where we’d be spending our summers."
Cain chuckles softly.
“You think she’s going to be okay?” I whisper to Cain, watching his sister. “I can tell she’s struggling with something, but she won’t say what.”
He sighs, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her. See if I can get it out of her.”
I squeeze his bicep and pull out my phone. “Thank you. Also, check out my latest video I just uploaded.”
His brows raise. “I thought you were taking a break from sharing on your social media page?"
I smile. "I was. This is actually a farewell video."
"Hm," he hums taking my phone in his hand. He presses play on my latest post, and I lean into his side as the sound of our family’s laughter fills the background.
“Hey, everyone.” My voice echoes from the phone speaker.
“I know it’s been a while since I posted, and there’s a reason for that.
When I first created this page, it was to help my family.
Specifically, to show my little sister a different perspective.
To remind her that the polished, ‘perfect’ lifestyle she was chasing wasn’t real or sustainable.
That behind closed doors, most influencers have some ‘grey.’
“At the time, I thought this was the best way to reach her. But since then, I’ve realized there’s nothing more important than connection. Because here’s the thing: social media isn’t real.
“Too often, we hide behind screens, forgetting that the real world, the one that’s filled with messy kitchens, imperfect people, and spontaneous laughter, is where connection, love, and healing actually happen.
“But, like most things in life, the living is what matters. The right path for you is often somewhere in the grey. Social media can be a force for good, it can bring people together, foster understanding, and spark change. There’s value in that.
But it can also pull us away from the moments that matter most and are happening right in front of us. ”
Cain’s thumb brushes slow circles against my shoulder, grounding me.
“Anyway,” my on-screen self says, “I didn’t log on today to preach about social media. I came here to share something beautiful that’s come out of this page—something that changed my life forever.
"For a long time, I didn’t think I deserved joy.
I blamed myself for things I couldn’t control, for choices that I made.
But now… I see things differently. Life is messy, unpredictable, and sometimes so, so beautiful when you finally step outside the screen.
So, here’s goodbye for now and remember, you’re doing amazing taking care of yourself and your family. ”
The video fades to black, and a slow smile spreads across Cain’s face. His eyes stay fixed on the blank phone screen for a moment longer, like he’s still hearing the echo of my words.
“Beautiful,” he says quietly.
I rest my head against his shoulder. “I'm going to keep the videos up but take a break from posting.”
He nods, pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’m glad you created it.”
“Glad I killed your winning streak?” I tease.
He chuckles, his hand sliding to the small of my back. “I’d take losing a thousand times if it meant bringing you back to me.”
He kisses me again and the world softens around us.
I can already picture it: our family growing here in Brookhaven by the lake where my parents once stood; the smell of grass after rain, kids’ laughter drifting through open windows, the sound of the water lapping against the dock at dusk.
I can see my siblings next door as their aunt and uncle; the same way I imagine my parents once saw their friends in town. Neighbors who turned into family, a community stitched together by love and second chances.
For so long, I lived in fear, guilt, and shame around what happened. I let those things define and control every decision that I made. I thought working myself sick was how I’d honor their lives.
But now, sitting here in the warm hum of our home, I know the truth. This, family, ordinary summer days spent together, is how I will honor their legacy.
The End.