Epilogue
Eleanor
A sharp kick lands in my ribs, forcing me to drop the carrots I’m bagging onto the floor.
I let out a huff and clutch my side, wincing. “If you do that again, Ivan, I may just go into early labor,” I mutter to my eight-month-swollen stomach.
I stare at the carrots scattered across the tile, already knowing there’s no way I can bend down and survive it. At this stage, I’m basically a waddling penguin. Being graceful is far out of the window at this point.
So I do the next best thing. “Nik!” I holler across the house, praying my husband of three years will swoop in and rescue me from the chaos his son has caused.
He comes sprinting down the stairs, panic etched all over his face. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” His voice is breathless, like he’s run a marathon.
Hand on my hip—well, somewhere beneath the belly mountain—I point toward the mess where Louie is currently living in snack heaven. “Look what Ivan did.”
Nik peeks over the counter. For a second, his expression stays firm, serious.
Then, he bursts out laughing. “Good grief, Eleanor, you had me thinking you were about to deliver him right here on the kitchen floor.” He covers his mouth, still chuckling.
“How exactly could he have caused that? He hasn’t even been born yet. ”
I give him my fiercest glare. “He’s practicing WWE moves in there. Kicked me square in the ribs. This is no laughing matter, Nik.”
He tries to smother his laugh, though it keeps spilling out. “Here, let me help,” he says between chuckles.
Bending down, he lets Louie have one last carrot while he scoops up the rest and tosses them into the trash, wiping his hands on a dish towel before turning back to me.
“Don’t you think it might be time to take your maternity leave?” he asks, a little more seriously now.
I narrow my eyes at him. “At this point, I don’t think he’s ever coming out. He seems perfectly content in there.” I gesture at my belly with all the dramatic flair I can muster.
Nik smirks and steps closer, his hand finding its place on my stomach before he presses a kiss to my lips. The one thing that always calms the storms around me. “I want you to be safe, Elenochka. To rest. And I promise you, he will come out. You can even ask Scarlett.”
I raise a brow at him, affronted. How dare he use my sister against me? Of course Scarlett would say he’d come out—she’s a professional—but I want to sulk and have Nik on my side, just once.
After I found out I was pregnant, Scarlett and I were already back in touch. The day she learned what our mother had done when I ruptured my achilles, she made it her personal mission to show me I was loved and cared for.
When the pregnancy test turned positive after what felt like years of waiting, Scarlett went full-on mom mode. She insisted on doing all my checkups herself, stepping into the role of my own personal midwife.
Her path surprised me. She left the hospital, got certified in home births, trained as a doula, and built her own small team. Now she travels from home to home, making sure every baby enters the world safely.
“I still have to work, Nik,” I whine, giving him my best attempt at puppy-dog eyes.
He cups my face, grinning. “The work will still be there.” A kiss to one cheek. “Think about all the rest you could get.” A kiss to the other. “No alarm clocks, nice warm blankets, breakfast in bed…” His words trail against my forehead as he presses a final kiss there before stepping back.
I sigh, picking up another bag and filling it with carrots. “But what about my kids? I can’t just leave them,” I murmur, pairing the bags with little cups of hummus.
“They’ll still be there, I promise. And besides—Lily said she’d help you.” Nik rummages in the fridge, pulling something out and setting it on the counter.
I nod, though a wave of unexpected sadness tugs at me.
When I first signed up for college classes, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I checked boxes, took the basics, and waited for direction. Then one day, it hit me all at once. Nutritionist.
At first, the thought seemed impossible.
But God carried me through those years, redeeming me at every step.
My healing with Evelyn opened my eyes to the beauty of food, the way it could nurture instead of destroy.
Nik only fueled it further by teaching me in his kitchen, cooking dishes I never would have touched before, expanding my palate and my heart.
Slowly, my love for food grew, and I realized everything I was once missing.
But my healing hasn’t been linear. It’s been far from easy.
There were days the old urges crept back, and I slipped.
In those early months, I still purged sometimes, even if not as often.
And every single time, I ran to Nik. He never shamed me and led me back to God, back to His promises, reminding me that grace covers even the messiest of moments.
Nik is always there. On my best days, and even more so on my worst. He tells me he’s proud of me when I can’t feel proud of myself. He encourages me to keep seeking God, to keep moving forward, even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.
When I finished my degree, the idea of actually finding work still felt far-fetched. Then one day, Kasper approached me with news: there was a lead nutritionist position open for the children at Hollingford Academy, the school affiliated with Hollingford Ballet Company.
At first, I was stunned. Frightened, even.
Children were like clay, soft and impressionable, hardening as they grew.
If I messed up, I could shape a thought or a habit that stuck with them for life.
The weight of that scared me, so I did the only thing I knew to do.
I prayed. I prayed unceasingly, asking God for guidance.
And every time, He led me back to Hollingford Academy.
Not in the destructive way ballet once held me, but in a new way. A way of redemption.
I may not dance anymore, but that doesn’t mean I have to shut ballet out completely.
I can still love it, still serve it, but in a healthier way.
I can be there for the little ones who remind me so much of myself.
Kids who are stuck under impossible expectations, or parents who can’t see that perfection is destroying them.
So I started small. At first, it was just food lists, basic nutrition charts I sent home with parents.
But over time, it grew into something so much bigger, something I never could’ve dreamed of.
Now I serve snacks after classes, give mini-lessons on why food fuels instead of harms, and after every performance I’m in the kitchen whipping up big family-style meals for the dancers and their families, using the same recipes Nik taught me over the years.
Watching them laugh over food, filling their plates without fear, makes my heart feel unexplainably full. It’s the life I once thought I’d never have. A second chance that’s wrapped in grace.
“Are you sure Lily won’t scare them off?” I ask, only half-joking.
Nik chuckles. “No promises. But Gabriel will be there to keep her in line.”
I pack the last bag and turn, resting my back against the counter. “I still can’t believe those two ended up together.”
“Neither can I,” Nik says with a grin. “Talk about the turn of the century.”
I giggle. “No kidding.” I try crossing my arms, but my belly makes it impossible, leaving me shifting uncomfortably instead.
I give up with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll think about it,” I say, referring to maternity leave.
“Scarlett’s coming by today anyway. I’ll ask her if she thinks it’s time for me to stop. ”
Nik nods, slipping a snack into his bag before filling his water bottle. “Good. Is she coming to pick you up from work, or do I need to?”
I rip open a hummus pack, picking up a stray carrot, hunger gnawing at me like it always does these days. “She’s coming here,” I say around a bite. “I need you to pick me up at lunch.”
Nik dips his chin, picking up the bin of snacks I’ve prepped for the kids. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I say, pushing off the counter and waddling like a duck toward the door. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
Nik’s laugh follows me. “I’ll come back to help you—don’t hurt yourself.”
I snatch another carrot and lob it at him. It hits the floor with a sad little bounce.
His laugh echoes down the hall. “You missed.”
I narrow my eyes at his retreating back. “Next time, I’m aiming for your head.”
Strong and steady thumps echo from the doppler.
I lie on the couch with my head in Nik’s lap, our fingers laced together and Louie curled at my feet, as Ivan’s heartbeat fills the room.
Scarlett glides the wand gently, the cool gel shifting with it. “He sounds so good, you guys,” she beams. “You’d never know you had such a hard time trying in the first place.”
Her words tug at the memories. Ivan is the greatest blessing, our answered prayer. After all the damage I did to my body, my doctor wasn’t sure pregnancy would ever be possible. My cycle had vanished for months, my uterus and ovaries weakened, the odds stacked against me.
When Nik and I started trying, we prayed with every ounce of faith we had. But month after month, the tests remained negative. Slowly, disappointment crept in, and with it came the old whispers of, you’re not enough. I started slipping back into bad habits, chasing control where I could find it.
Nik noticed before I fell too far. He stopped me, held me, reminded me that his love wasn’t conditional on children, and that my worth wasn’t measured by my body’s ability to bear them. Together we decided to let go. To stop trying, to rest, and enjoy the life we already had.
And that’s when it happened. Unexpectedly. Undeserved. Our miracle. A sweet baby boy, given to us the moment we stopped striving and simply trusted.