41. Epilogue
Mira
I stood in the doorway, watching Beau in the soft glow of the nursery lamp, cradling our son in his arms. He was sitting in the old rocking chair we'd picked out months ago, the one we'd argued over—Beau insisting we didn't need anything fancy, and me determined to find the right one. Of course, we ended up with the one I wanted, and now it seemed impossible to imagine this room without it, without him sitting there, singing softly to Manav in that deep, calming voice of his.
He was singing the Bengali lullaby I'd grown up with, the one I had sung to Pari when she was a baby, the one that still lingered in the walls of our home like it had been a part of us from the beginning. But now, it was Beau who sang it, the words foreign on his tongue but filled with love, with meaning. Every time I heard him sing it, my heart swelled a little more.
" Mamoni go ami bhalo achi …." His voice was low and steady, and his accent atrocious.
Manav, barely a few weeks old, stared up at him with those wide, dark eyes, his tiny fist curled around Beau's thumb. He was so small, so new, and yet it felt like he had always been a part of us. Like he had always belonged here, in this room, in Beau's arms, in our lives.
I leaned against the doorframe, wrapping my arms around myself as I watched the two of them together. My heart felt so full it was hard to breathe. This was our life now—me, Beau, Pari, and Manav. A family that had come together through so much pain and healing, through heartbreak and love. And here we were, standing on the other side of it, happier than I ever thought possible.
Six years had passed since that night we danced in our living room when I told him I'd marry him. And in those years, we had built a life that was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
Pari, now nine, was the heart of our home. She had blossomed into the most vibrant, joyful little girl, and every day with her felt like a gift. She was a whirlwind of energy—always running around with her friends, always asking questions, always dreaming big. But no matter how busy she was, she never went to bed without her song. And now, I had the joy of singing it to Manav as well.
As for Beau, he had become the father I always knew he could be. The kind of father who showed up for every school play, every soccer game, who sat at the dinner table every night, making Pari laugh until she cried with his ridiculous stories. He was the kind of father who held our son in the quiet hours of the night, rocking him to sleep with a lullaby that wasn't even in his native language but had become a part of him anyway.
My parents had disappeared from my life—and even from their own. My father was arrested and admitted to everything, sparing me the ordeal of testifying against him. I would've done it; I was strong enough. But thanks to Beau, I didn't have to. He'd gathered enough evidence to leave my father no choice but to plead guilty and accept a deal.
My mother went back to India, unable to deal with the humiliation of staying in the United States, where everyone knew that she had been my father's enabler. Did it bother me that the Indian community had found out about our family's dirty secret? Remarkably, no. My parents' friends and our relatives had surprised me by reaching out and offering their apologies for not noticing what was happening to me and Asha. I didn't care. It didn't matter. I had moved on. I had found my place.
I was no longer that girl who worried she didn't belong in Beau's world, who doubted her worth. I had built a career at Savannah Lace, designing the new company cafeteria that had become one of the most sought-after lunch spots in the city. I was still apprenticing with Chef Gervais on the weekends, and Beau had even encouraged me to start hosting pop-up dinners around town. I had dreams now—dreams that I was finally living with him by my side.
But right now, in this moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that counted was here, in this room—the man I loved, singing to our son in that quiet, steady way that always made me feel like the world was a little more settled, a little more right.
I stepped into the room, crossing the space to stand beside the rocking chair, my hand resting on Beau's shoulder. He looked up at me, his eyes soft, and I could see the exhaustion that was part and parcel of long nights with a newborn. But there was no complaint in his expression. No frustration. Just love—pure, unfiltered love.
"You're getting good at that," I said softly, nodding toward Manav, who was slowly drifting off to sleep, his little fingers still clutching Beau's thumb.
Beau smiled, that easy, confident smile that still made my heart skip a beat. "I've had a good teacher."
I chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. "Maybe I should make you sing it to Pari next time. She'll appreciate the extra practice."
"She's got me wrapped around her finger already. Don't give her any more ideas," he murmured, but there was warmth in his voice, the kind that told me he wouldn't mind one bit.
We sat there in the quiet, the only sound the soft creak of the rocking chair, and the steady hum of the lullaby still hanging in the air. I watched as Manav's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evening out as sleep took him. Beau held him close, his large hand cradling the back of our son's head with care.
I knelt beside them, resting my hand on Manav's tiny body, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Beau," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "I can't believe this is our life."
Beau looked down at me, his eyes soft and full of something that made my heart ache in the best way. "Me neither," he whispered back, his voice rough with emotion.
I smiled, feeling the tears well up in my eyes, but I didn't fight them. I didn't need to. This wasn't sadness. This was joy, pure and simple. This was the life we had fought for, the life we had built from the ground up.
I stood up slowly, brushing a hand through Beau's hair before I kissed the top of Manav's head. "Let's put him to bed," I whispered.
Beau nodded, standing carefully and carrying Manav to the crib we had set up in the corner. He laid him down gently, his hand lingering on our son's stomach for a moment before he stepped away. We stood together, side by side, watching as Manav slept, his tiny body curled into himself, peaceful and safe.
I leaned into Beau, my head resting against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. "I love you," I whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as breathing.
He kissed the top of my head, his voice soft. "I love you, too, Mira. More than anything."
And as we stood there, watching over the life we had created, I felt it again—the quiet certainty that I had found my place in the world. With Beau, with Pari, with Manav.
This was my family. This was my home. I was whole.
Thank you for reading Best Kept Secret .