Epilogue
SAMANTHA
Two Years Later
The twins discover snow the way they discover everything else in life—with complete commitment and zero caution.
Matteo throws himself forward into the drift beside the expanded lodge, and his brother Lucas follows half a second later because he’s never let Matteo do anything alone. They disappear into white powder up to their waists, and their laughter carries across the clearing like bells.
I watch from the kitchen window while my coffee gets cold in my hands. January sunshine turns the Colorado mountains into something out of a postcard, all sharp peaks and endless blue sky.
The lodge we built onto the original structure blends seamlessly with what was already here, adding the space we needed without losing the character that made this place feel like home from the beginning.
“Sam, you’re going to wear a hole in that window.” Grant’s voice comes from behind me, followed by the familiar weight of his hand on my hip.
“I’m watching to make sure Kai doesn’t let them build a ramp and try to ski down the hill.” I lean back against him. “He’s got that look in his eyes.”
“He’s on his medication and has explicit orders from the doctor not to encourage reckless behavior in children under two.” Grant presses a kiss to my temple. “Though I’ll admit, those orders might not be working.”
Outside, Kai hoists Matteo onto his shoulders while Lucas tugs at his leg, demanding equal treatment. Both boys are bundled in matching navy snowsuits that make them look like tiny astronauts, dark hair sticking up in every direction under their winter hats.
Watching the three of them together, you’d never know that Kai takes pills twice a day to keep his heart from giving out. He moves with the same energy he always had, just tempered now with the understanding that invincibility is a myth.
Donovan appears on the porch with his tablet, probably reviewing something that can’t wait until regular business hours. He says something that makes Kai laugh, and then he’s crouching down to Lucas’s level, listening with exaggerated seriousness to whatever the sixteen-month-old is babbling about.
“Your coffee’s cold,” Grant observes, taking the mug from my hands and heading to the pot for a fresh pour. “And you’ve been standing there for twenty minutes.”
“Have I?” I turn away from the window, accepting the warm cup he hands me. “I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“About how different this is from what I expected.” I wrap both hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. “Two years ago, I was plotting revenge against your family. Now I’m watching your sons play in the snow with my children and wondering if we need to order more diapers.”
“Our children,” Grant corrects, and there’s steel under the gentleness. “Biology doesn’t make a family. Choice does. We chose them. They’re ours.”
He’s right, of course. The twins came into the world with dark hair and features that could belong to any of the three men, and nobody’s ever suggested running paternity tests.
It doesn’t matter. Matteo and Lucas belong to all of us equally, loved and claimed by three men who decided fatherhood was more important than bloodlines.
“Where’s the morning shipment report?” Donovan asks, walking in from outside with Lucas balanced on his hip. The toddler has snow in his hair and a look of pure joy on his face. “I need to review the numbers before the supplier meeting at ten.”
“On your desk, where it always is.” I take Lucas from him, and he immediately grabs a fistful of my hair. “Did you have fun in the snow, baby?”
“No!” Lucas announces, which is his current favorite word for everything, including things he loves.
“No, huh?” I bounce him gently. “Then I guess we shouldn’t go back outside later.”
“No!” But he’s grinning, and I kiss his forehead, tasting snow and baby shampoo.
The door opens again, and Kai walks in with Matteo still perched on his shoulders. “I’m officially frozen. How do parents survive winters with kids? This is torture.”
“You could have stayed inside,” I point out.
“And missed Matteo eating snow for the first time? Never.” He lifts Matteo down and starts peeling off the snowsuit. “He tried to eat the entire drift. Kid’s got commitment.”
“He gets that from you,” Donovan says.
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
I watch them move around each other, Kai wrestling Matteo out of his wet clothes while Donovan sets Lucas down to toddle toward his toy box. Grant refilling coffee mugs and checking his phone for whatever business crisis needs attention today.
This is my life now. Morning chaos, cold coffee, and children who inherited their fathers’ complete inability to do anything halfway.
“I got an email from the buyer at Nordstrom,” I say, setting my mug down. “They want to carry the spring line in fifteen stores.”
Grant looks up from his phone. “That’s significant expansion.”
“It is.” Pride swells in my chest. “Mom would have loved seeing the brand in Nordstrom. She always said that was the dream.”
“She’d be proud of what you built,” Donovan says, and he means it. He’s never been one for empty platitudes.
The company I rebuilt from the shell Robert left behind has become exactly what I wanted it to be.
Price Fashion exists as a boutique brand focused on sustainable professional wear for women who can’t afford luxury prices but refuse to compromise on quality.
We manufacture everything domestically, pay fair wages, and donate a portion of profits to organizations that support women in business.
It’s small compared to Grant’s empire, but it’s mine. Built on my mother’s foundation without the corruption that destroyed it the first time.
“Logan called yesterday,” Grant says after a moment, and the room goes quiet.
I look at him. “What did he want?”
“To wish me a happy birthday.” Grant’s expression is carefully neutral. “We talked for three minutes. He’s still in Seattle with Chelsea. Still working for that tech startup.”
“Did he ask about the twins?” Kai’s voice has an edge I rarely hear.
“No.” Grant sets his phone down. “He asked about business. About the weather. About nothing that matters. Then he said he had a meeting and had to go.”
We don’t talk about Logan often. He left two years ago and never looked back, building a life that deliberately excludes the family he was born into.
Sometimes Grant gets calls on holidays. Sometimes months pass with nothing.
The estrangement is complete, and I stopped feeling guilty about my role in it somewhere around the six-month mark when I realized Logan made his choice long before I ever showed up.
“His loss,” I say quietly. “These kids are incredible.”
“They really are.” Kai’s holding Matteo now, who’s trying to climb him like a jungle gym. “Though I maintain that Lucas is clearly the smarter one.”
“Matteo is smarter,” Donovan argues. “He figured out how to open the safety gate last week.”
“That’s not intelligence, that’s chaos instinct. Totally different.”
I leave them arguing about which twin is superior and head toward my office.
The lodge expansion included a dedicated workspace for me, complete with proper lighting and enough room for fabric samples and design boards.
Running the company from here means I’m never more than a room away from my family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My phone buzzes with a text from Robert’s lawyer. It’s been six months since the last one, but they still come occasionally. Updates on his location, confirmation that he’s staying out of trouble, and reminders that he’s not allowed to contact me under the terms of the agreement Grant negotiated.
Last I heard, Robert was living in Buenos Aires under an assumed name, still running from debts he’ll never fully escape. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks about what he lost when he tried to use me as a weapon.
The family he could have been part of if he’d chosen differently. Then I remember the lies and manipulation, and stop wondering because he doesn’t deserve my sympathy.
I delete the message without reading past the first line and get to work reviewing the spring catalog proofs.
Hours pass in the focused quiet of design work. When I finally look up, the sun has shifted across the sky, and my stomach is growling. I head back to the main living area and find organized chaos.
Matteo and Lucas are having what appears to be a very serious conversation in their own toddler language while building a tower out of blocks. Grant’s on a video call in his office with the door cracked.
Kai’s sprawled on the couch reading something on his tablet. And Donovan is making lunch, efficiently chopping vegetables while keeping one eye on the twins.
“Hungry?” he asks when I walk into the kitchen.
“Starving.” I lean against the counter beside him. “What are we having?”
“Grilled cheese for the kids. Actual food for us.” He glances at me. “How’s the catalog looking?”
“Good. Really good, actually. The photographer nailed the aesthetic I wanted.” I steal a piece of bell pepper from his cutting board. “Nordstrom’s going to love it.”
“Of course they will. You’re brilliant at this.” He says it like a fact, not a compliment.
The twins abandon their blocks and toddle over, Lucas reaching up with grabby hands until I lift him. He settles against my hip like he belongs there, which he does, and I feel that wave of gratitude that still catches me off guard sometimes.
I came here to destroy the Hale family. To make them pay for crimes they never committed. To execute a revenge plan built entirely on lies.
Instead, I fell in love with three men who showed me what family actually means. Who claimed me and my mistakes and the babies growing inside me without hesitation. Who rebuilt my mother’s legacy and gave me the space to honor her memory properly.
The revenge plan failed spectacularly.
And it’s the best thing that never worked.
“Sam?” Donovan’s voice pulls me back. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I kiss Lucas’s head, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and snow. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
“We’re the lucky ones,” Kai says from the couch without looking up from his tablet. “You could have actually succeeded in your revenge plot and destroyed us all. Instead, you turned out to be the worst spy in history.”
“I was a terrible spy,” I agree, laughing.
“The absolute worst,” Grant adds, emerging from his office. “Which is exactly why we’re keeping you.”
Donovan finishes making lunch, and we settle around the expanded dining table that seats six comfortably now. The twins make an impressive mess with their grilled cheese while Grant discusses a potential acquisition and Kai argues against it with surprising business acumen.
This is my life. This chaotic, unconventional, absolutely perfect life.
We never got married. There’s no legal documentation of our relationship beyond the birth certificates listing Grant as father and me as mother because putting all three names would have raised too many questions.
We exist in the spaces between traditional definitions, building something that works for us without caring what it looks like to anyone else.
After lunch, Kai takes the twins for their nap while Grant returns to work and Donovan helps me clean up the kitchen. We move around each other with practiced ease, and when we’re done, he pulls me against him, arms wrapped around my waist.
“Happy?” he asks.
“Deliriously.” I lean back into him. “Are you?”
“More than I knew was possible.” He turns me to face him, and his kiss is slow and thorough, the kind that makes me forget we’re standing in the kitchen where anyone could walk in.
When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against his chest and just breathe.
“I love you,” I tell him. “All of you. This whole ridiculous family we built.”
“We love you too.” His hand slides up to cup the back of my head. “Even when you’re geeking out about supply chain management at midnight.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three times.”
“Fine. Three times.” I pull back to look at him. “But you participated in those conversations, so you’re equally guilty.”
“I never claimed innocence.”
Through the window, I can see the mountains stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The same mountains I first saw two years ago when I arrived here, full of rage and lies and misguided purpose. Back then, I thought this place would be temporary. A stepping stone toward revenge. A means to an end.
I had no idea it would become home.
“Come on.” Donovan takes my hand. “Naptime means we have exactly ninety minutes of peace before the chaos resumes. Let’s not waste it.”
He leads me toward the bedroom, and I follow without hesitation because this is where I belong. Not because some plan brought me here.
But because I chose to stay. And they chose to keep me.
THE END