Epilogue
Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in a quiet calm as Brad carefully helped Isobel into their home. The chill in the air was bracing, but his heart was warm, filled with cautious hope as he unlocked the door and stepped inside with her. He moved to start a fire in the hearth.
“Mark looks good, considering. He’s cute with a shaved head. Thank you for taking me to see him.” A shadow of grief for Riley passed over her face.
It had been six weeks since the doctors fought to save her life, and two weeks before Christmas, she was finally coming home. For Brad, it was impossible not to think back to the last time he brought her home, after the bee attack that had nearly taken her life. He remembered the tentative, fragile days that followed, when they’d first begun exploring the trust and intimacy of their D/s dynamic. How it had brought them closer, made them stronger.
But now, as he watched Isobel slowly move through the living room, trailing her fingers nervously over the back of the couch, the bookshelf, and the edge of the table, his heart ached. She seemed hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure she belonged here anymore, or maybe she was afraid of what being home meant. She avoided his gaze, her hands lingering on objects as though grounding herself in the reality of the space.
Brad stood silently for a moment, his chest tightening as realization dawned. She might be afraid of picking up where they left off, of reclaiming who they were together. The thought tore through him like a sharp blade, and he knew he had to address it—honestly and openly, the way they always had.
“Belle,” he said softly.
She turned, her eyes wide and cautious, her fingers frozen on the edge of a picture frame.
Without hesitation, Brad dropped to his knees, lowering himself into a submissive pose, his head bowed and his hands resting loosely on his thighs. It was a position of complete surrender—an act of love and devotion.
“Belle,” he began, his voice trembling slightly, “I told you when we first got together that I couldn’t have a relationship where I wasn’t a Dominant because it’s a part of who I am. But these past weeks, I’ve realized there’s something even more important: having you in my life. I can’t live without you. I need you. And if you never want to go back to that lifestyle, it’s fine with me. All I care about is you.”
For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. Then, Isobel crossed the room in a rush and fell to her knees in front of him, her arms wrapping around his neck. She buried her face in his chest, her body trembling as she whispered, “Hold me. Just hold me.”
Brad pulled her close, his strong arms enveloping her as if he could shield her from the world. “Always,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I’ll always hold you.”
Sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows as Isobel opened and closed cabinets, her movements slow but purposeful. She wore one of Brad’s old sweatshirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched her.
“Brad?” She glanced up from the counter. “Can we go food shopping? I… I want to bake cookies.” There was a newfound steadiness to her voice.
Brad’s smile widened. “Of course. Let me grab the keys.”
They returned from the store an hour later, arms laden with bags of sugar, flour, chocolate chips, and cinnamon. The house filled with the sweet smell of butter and spices as they worked side by side in the kitchen. Isobel’s laugh, soft and tentative, broke the silence as she held up a tray of snickerdoodles.
“Try one.” She held it out to him.
Brad took a bite, his eyes lighting up. “Perfect,” he said, his voice warm with approval.
She smiled and broke off a small piece, holding it to his lips. As he took the morsel, he kissed her fingers gently, lingering for a moment. Her hand moved to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the stubble there.
“Brad,” her voice trembled with vulnerability, “will you… will you make love to me?”
Brad’s breath caught, but he nodded, his eyes full of tenderness. He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to their bedroom.
“Belle,” he murmured as he laid her down gently, “if you feel uncomfortable at any point, say something. Promise me.”
“I promise,” she whispered, her eyes glistening as she reached for him.
Their movements were slow, deliberate, and full of care. Brad kept his posture open, lifting her on top of him, letting her set the pace. He watched her intently, searching her face for any sign of discomfort, but all he saw was love. As they moved together, Isobel wrapped herself around him, her arms tightening as if she never wanted to let go.
When they finally collapsed into each other’s arms, Isobel fell asleep nestled against his chest. Brad stroked her hair, his heart full as he held her through the night.
Isobel shifted on the couch, the soft cushion beneath her a reminder of how long it had been since she’d felt something as comforting as home. The faint scent of pine drifted in from the corner of the living room, where Brad was carefully setting up their Christmas tree. His movements were deliberate but easy, his shoulders relaxed in a way that made her smile.
“Where do you want this one?” She held up an ornament shaped like a mouse. Her fingers were steady now, something she didn’t take for granted anymore.
“Near the top.” Brad glanced at her with a small grin. “You’ve got the better eye for placement.”
Isobel reached up, stretching to hang the ornament near a cluster of twinkling lights. The room glowed softly, the tree already taking on a warm, festive charm.
They were halfway through decorating when the doorbell rang. Brad straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans, and gave her a knowing look. “You should get that.”
When she opened the door, Molly and Ethan stood on the porch, bundled against the chill, their faces glowing. Ethan carried a small car seat, and Molly’s arms were outstretched before Isobel even had time to process what was happening.
“Oh, Izzy,” Molly whispered, her voice trembling as she wrapped her arms around her sister. “It’s so good to see you.”
Isobel hugged her back, her throat tightening. When they finally pulled apart, Molly reached for the car seat, her smile widening as she lifted the tiny bundle nestled inside.
“Meet your nephew,” Molly said softly, her eyes shining with tears.
Isobel’s breath hitched as she gazed down at the baby. Wyatt’s tiny face was scrunched in sleep, his lips pursed as though caught in a dream. His skin was impossibly smooth, the faintest blush of pink warming his round cheeks. His lashes were long, dark crescents resting on his soft skin, and the faint scent of baby powder wafted up as Molly handed him to Isobel.
“He’s perfect,” Isobel whispered, her voice breaking.
Molly laughed softly, wiping at her eyes. “I know. I still can’t believe he’s here. Ethan’s been a rock star, but… God, Izzy, I’m finally getting some sleep.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mostly because Ethan’s been taking the night shifts.”
Isobel chuckled, the sound light and unexpected. “You’ve earned it. You look… happy, Mols.”
Molly smiled, watching Isobel gently hold her son. The baby shifted slightly, his tiny hands curling into delicate fists. His lips parted in a soft, soundless sigh, and Isobel marveled at the tiny pulse beating faintly in his temple.
“How does it feel to be home?” Molly asked.
Isobel’s fingers stroked Wyatt’s tiny hand, marveling at the impossibly perfect detail of his fingernails. She took a slow breath, letting the question settle. “Good,” she said after a moment. “Strange, but good. I didn’t let myself think about… this.” She gestured vaguely, encompassing the house, the tree, the baby in her arms. “It feels fragile, like if I breathe too hard, it’ll all disappear.”
Molly placed a hand on her knee, her expression earnest. “It’s real, Izzy. You’re here, and this is yours, too. I couldn’t wait to bring Wyatt to you. He’s lucky to have you.”
Isobel’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile as she looked down at Wyatt. She cradled him closer, and for a moment, her thoughts drifted to Brad. He was in the kitchen with Ethan now, but the memory of his easy smile, the way he had decorated the tree with such care, lingered in her mind.
As she gazed at Wyatt, her heart tightened with an unfamiliar ache. The baby’s warmth in her arms, the soft weight of him filled her with a longing she hadn’t expected. She imagined holding a child of her own, one with Brad’s piercing gray eyes and steady presence. The thought was fleeting but vivid, and it sent a rush of emotions through her—hope, fear, and a quiet yearning she wasn’t quite ready to name.
She glanced toward the kitchen, as if Brad might somehow sense her thoughts. He didn’t, but she caught a glimpse of him, his expression calm and steady as he talked with Ethan. For the first time, the idea didn’t feel impossible. Maybe one day, when the cracks in her life were fully healed, she could dare to dream about a family of her own.
The warmth of conversation filled the room as they talked. Molly leaned closer, her smile soft. “You’re a natural,” she said, watching Isobel stroke Wyatt’s tiny hand.
Isobel smiled down at her nephew. “He makes it easy.”
The afternoon passed in a blur of warmth and quiet joy. Wyatt slept peacefully in Molly’s arms, his tiny hand curled around her finger. Isobel sat beside her sister, feeling ready to dream about what the future might hold.
The sight of Isobel cradling Wyatt made Brad’s chest tighten. Her tentative smile as she gazed at the baby was something he hadn’t seen in far too long. It stirred a bittersweet ache in him—a mixture of pride, love, and the lingering guilt that never seemed to leave. He turned away before the emotion overwhelmed him and headed into the kitchen with Ethan.
Ethan opened the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea. “How is she, really?” he asked, glancing at Brad as he set the pitcher on the counter. “I know you just got home, but Molly couldn’t wait for her to meet Wyatt.”
Brad leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as his gaze drifted toward the living room doorway. Isobel’s soft laughter mingled with the baby’s gentle coos, a sound that filled the house with a warmth he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.
“She has a long way to go,” Brad admitted, his voice low and heavy. “But coming home—it’s a start. Yesterday, we stopped to visit Mark Dillon.”
Ethan stilled, his brow furrowing as he reached for the glasses. “How’s he doing?”
Brad exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s rehabbing. Physically, he’s making progress, but…” His shoulders slumped, and he stared down at the counter. “He’s drowning in guilt. When he saw her, he broke down, clinging to her like a lifeline. She kept telling him it wasn’t his fault, but I could see it. It’s going to take time. For both of them.”
Ethan paused, setting the glasses down and giving Brad his full attention. “And Izzy? Last night?”
Brad swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I left the light on. She couldn’t sleep in the dark.” His voice cracked as he continued, forcing the words out, “I just… held her through it, through the nightmares. I’ll do whatever it takes, Ethan. I just don’t know if it’ll ever be enough.”
Ethan stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Brad’s shoulder. His tone was calm, but his empathy was clear. “When Molly was shot, and I found out she was pregnant… I didn’t have a damn clue what to do. There’s no guide for this, no step-by-step manual to fix what’s broken. You just… love her. Be there. That’s all you can do.”
Brad nodded, his jaw tightening as he straightened, pushing himself off the counter. “Yeah. Love her. I can do that.”
Together, they carried the glasses into the living room. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting golden light over the snow. Isobel sat close to Molly, her gaze fixed on Wyatt as he slept in Molly’s arms. Her lips curved in a small, tentative smile as she brushed a finger along the baby’s tiny hand.
Brad set the glasses down on the table, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes met his. Something unspoken passed between them—gratitude, trust, and maybe even hope.
The rest of the visit passed in easy conversation and laughter. Stories were shared, memories revisited, and Wyatt’s soft sounds filled the gaps. Brad kept a watchful eye on Isobel, his hand brushing hers whenever her expression turned distant, grounding her gently in the present.
As the sun began to set and Molly and Ethan prepared to leave, Isobel lingered at the door, her arms crossed tightly around herself. “I’m glad they came.”
Brad placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “They’ll come again.”
She nodded, her gaze following the car as it pulled away. For a moment, she stood silently in the doorway, the cool evening air brushing against her. “Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for keeping the light on.”
His chest tightened, but he managed a small smile. “Always.”
Later that evening, they sat together by the fire, the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner. Isobel rested her head against his shoulder, and Brad reached for her hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm.
“I love you,” he said, the words carrying his feelings of devotion and sincerity.
Isobel looked up at him, her eyes filled with quiet strength and a glimmer of something brighter—hope. “I love you too,” she replied, her voice steady and sure.
As Brad lowered his head to kiss her, he knew they were finally finding their way back to each other. Together.
THE END