Bonus Epilogue
Atty
Some Years Later
It was freezing.
I stared out the window, watching the snow fall softly on the other side of the glass. The view was simple but beautiful—pine trees dusted in white, a wooden fence strung with lights that had struggled to shine through the downpour. But Noah had been right—nothing compared to a white Christmas.
This wasn’t our first one. Not even our second or third. For years, we had packed up and rented a little cottage in a small town where Christmas felt monumental, where people gathered in clusters to sing carols in the streets. Noah had always made time for it—for us.
The band and the tours had been slowing down recently.
In light of everything that had happened, it was inevitable.
We had been talking with them about postponing the next tour, about shifting to something quieter, more stable.
Travel had always been tough, but when we added in the new variables, it became overwhelming.
The scent of coffee filled the house. I moved through the motions—pouring two mugs, carrying them back to the room—until I stopped short at the door.
Morning took its time in winter, but the lamp on my nightstand was already on, casting a soft amber glow across the bed. Over Noah’s sleeping form. Over the two little boys curled into his sides—one with his cheek on his chest, the other half-wrapped around his arm.
Elio and Jude. Our kids.
How surreal was that?
I leaned against the doorframe and just stood there, watching them. I knew they would go full gremlin the moment those little eyes blinked open, but right then? Right then, they looked like angels.
Angels who had absolutely refused to sleep the night before.
Jude had been out with his grandmother, and by the time he came back, the damage had been done—face smeared with chocolate and a late afternoon nap that sealed our fate.
As for Elio, he was just two months shy of turning two and completely, hopelessly attached to Noah.
He couldn’t sleep unless it was in his arms—or, in this case, across his chest.
Noah never complained. Not once. Not even when the exhaustion showed in the dark circles under his eyes, or when the pressure of juggling the band and family life threatened to take over.
Every time Elio raised his hands and said “Da-da,” he was scooped up without hesitation.
Kissed all over his chubby cheeks. Loved.
Watching him become a parent was breathtaking.
I knew exactly where it came from—those old wounds he carried, the scars of growing up never feeling like he was enough.
He was determined to rewrite that story for our kids, to make sure they never questioned whether they were loved, not even for a second.
I saw it in the way doubt flickered across his face during a tantrum, in the way his eyes welled up when he had to walk away from two teary toddlers clinging to his legs.
He was healing something in himself every time he showed up for them—and he never stopped trying to do better.
He never stopped growing.
Even when parenting brought new friction with his mom—when it dug up layers of pain he thought he’d already faced—he kept going.
And in those moments, I realized it wasn’t just about giving our kids the childhood he never had.
It was about proving to himself that he could break the cycle.
That love, real love, didn’t have to hurt.
My own job gave us flexibility. I could work from home, which had helped us a lot after we graduated.
The first few years were hectic. Chaos. Meetings, shows, rehearsals. Late nights and last-minute flights. It felt endless. But somehow, we made it work. Especially when it came to us.
After a year of remote work with a software company—and with Noah’s support and financial wisdom—I quit and launched my own.
It took off more than I had expected. It wasn’t a one-man show anymore, but it still lit a fire in me every morning.
Solving problems, delegating, building something that was mine.
Volleyball became my weekend thing. I had played on and off for years, but now, with Jude…Elio mostly just stole the ball, but Jude was starting to really get into it. Sharing the sport I loved with my son? There was nothing better.
After I proposed and we got married—though the gap between those two took longer than we had planned, thanks to our schedules—we finally tied the knot in our backyard. Small, simple, and perfect. Then we set off on his sister’s boat for our honeymoon, drifting along the Mediterranean.
Our life felt like a fairytale.
Only one thing had been missing—the little pieces that would complete our family. Jude and Elio. It had been nonnegotiable for both of us. We had wanted kids.
Getting them, though, had been its own kind of battle. A million hoops, endless paperwork, soaring excitement followed by devastating letdowns, and the persistent anxiety tied to waiting for news.
Noah had wanted to adopt from day one. So even though they were three years apart, Jude and Elio came into our lives almost at the same time—Jude at four, Elio at not even a year old.
It was hard. But so, so worth it.
Jude had been easier—chatty, always attached to our hips. Elio came in like a wrecking ball, but in the very best way. He brought joy to all of us. A tiny partner-in-crime for Jude and a giggling snuggle bug for me.
And he gave Noah something I still couldn’t quite put into words.
A quiet understanding. A bond deeper than language. Like a piece of Noah’s soul had wandered off and finally come home, demanding every ounce of his heart.
Now, watching his messy brown hair tickle Noah’s chin, his tiny lips parted, his breath rising and falling in sync with his dad’s, I couldn’t help but feel grateful.
Grateful that everything—somehow—had come together.
I walked around to the side of the bed and sat near Noah’s hip, careful not to wake the kids as I set the coffee cups on the nightstand. My hand drifted through his tousled hair. His eyelids fluttered once, then opened slowly, those gorgeous green eyes landing on me. A soft smile on his lips.
“Morning, baby,” I whispered.
“Is it morning?” He stretched just enough not to jostle Elio.
I nodded. “It’s snowing.”
His face lit up. “Yay.”
I grinned, brushing his hair back again. “Coffee’s on the table. Want me to scoop him up so you can grab a quick shower?”
He shook his head and tightened his free arm around Elio. “Baby cuddles.”
“Okay then, I’ll jump in and start getting everything ready for breakfast.” I leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
I started to rise, but Noah caught me, his palm warm on the back of my neck.
“Hey,” he said with that perfect side smile.
“What?”
“Merry Christmas.” He tilted his chin up in invitation.
I kissed him—just a soft press of lips, but his warmth spread through me instantly.
“Merry Christmas.”
Then Jude—who had been completely out cold just moments ago—shot upright, sitting on the bed. Still bleary-eyed and half asleep, he threw his arms in the air and practically shouted, “Christmas!” before scrambling off the bed.
“Hey, buddy,” I said with a laugh.
“Dad! It’s Christmas!” he repeated joyfully.
“It sure is,” Noah said, glancing down as Elio began to stir, tiny fists rubbing at his eyes.
“Santa came! Presents!” Jude shouted, hopping in place. “Can I go? Can I go see the presents?”
“Yeah, bu—” was all I managed before he bolted toward the door. “Hey, wait up,” I called, but he was already gone.
“So much for showering,” Noah said with a grin.
Elio turned toward me, his lower lip already wobbling. I scooped him into my arms, stood, and began to rock him gently. He rested his cheek on my shoulder, thumb in his mouth, eyes already starting to flutter closed again.
“Jude!” I called, walking to the doorway.
“Remember,” Noah said, rubbing his eyes, “we have the secret weapon.”
And thank god for that. “Mom?”
“I got him!” her voice rang out from the hall.
I sighed and patted Elio’s back. “Wait for us to open the gifts?”
“I’ll try my best, but things are already getting out of control!” she called back.
Noah snorted. “I’ll go,” he said, stretching—his shirt lifting just enough to show the warm skin of his lower back.
“I’ll change his nappy and be right out. Wait for me?”
He nodded, leaned in to press a kiss to Elio’s shoulder, and then rose on his toes to kiss my lips. “Love you.” His voice was still thick with sleep.
I watched him shuffle out of the room, swaying lazily as he raked a hand through the back of his unruly hair.
Smiling to myself, I shifted Elio to one arm, reached for his things, and set him gently on the bed to change him. His dark-brown eyes met mine, blinking in confusion, then clouding with instant disappointment.
“Let me guess, you want—”
His eyes filled with tears, and then came the almighty wail: “DADA!”
After the presents under the tree had been thoroughly massacred, and all that remained was a tower of cardboard boxes and shredded red-and-green wrapping paper, we managed a semi-nutritious breakfast to hold the kids over until the rest of the grownups showed up.
Since we were in Whitefish, Montana, not everyone could make it—just Holly, her partner, Ezra, Pax, and Colin.
My mom and I were in charge of cooking while the rest stayed in the living room, playing with Jude. Noah was still trying to get Elio down for a nap.
He walked in looking exhausted but cheerful, dressed in a Christmas sweater that was both ugly and—somehow—flattering. He grinned when he caught my eye and stepped in close, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his cheek against my back.
“He’s down?” I asked.
“For now, yeah. He’s down.” He turned to my mom. “Do you need help?”
“No, sweetie.” She balanced a plate of cookies in her hands. “I’m taking these out for them. Why don’t you try to nap too?” she said with a kind smile.
His face pressed close to me again. “I’m good. Maybe I’ll just nap here.”