Epilogue
MAYA
The oven hums in the background, and the kitchen smells like sugar and warm apples.
Dave the starter is bubbling contentedly in his jar on the counter, wearing the tiny crocheted beanie Lila insisted he needed for winter, even though it’s June.
The sourdough loaf is proving on the windowsill, covered with a tea towel printed with cartoon bears in aprons.
Owen found it at a market stall last week and bought three.
Lila is on her step-stool, pink apron tied crookedly around her waist, her face is smeared with flour and pure determination. She is piping buttercream onto cupcakes with the intense focus of a world-class surgeon.
“Gentle, babe,” I say, leaning in. “That one’s looking a little like a ghost.”
“It’s supposed to look like a ghost,” she says proudly. “It’s a spooky cupcake.”
“Ah, my mistake.”
Owen is manning the oven, timer in hand, wearing the apron Lila made him for Christmas. It says ‘BEAR’S BAKERY’ in glitter paint and has a large stain shaped suspiciously like gravy.
“You two,” I say, “have turned my kitchen into chaos.”
“We improved it,” Owen says, sliding a tray of muffins onto the rack. “Made it more…what’s the word, Lila?”
“Vibey,” Lila says seriously.
I shake my head, grinning.
Outside, the back garden is in full bloom. The sun is out, the grass freshly cut, and the little herb planter we built together last month is already overflowing. This morning, Owen installed a tiny scarecrow that Lila named Sir Parsley. He now guards the mint with an expression of permanent alarm.
Inside, the kitchen is filled with the three of us, a half-made mess, and something that feels exactly like peace.
And it’s not just peace. It’s justice, too.
Jamie’s sentencing came through last week.
Guilty on all charges. Multiple counts of coercive control, stalking, and intimidation, as well as the break-in and property damage.
He’ll serve time. Real time. Not just a warning or a suspended sentence.
Despite being given the option to submit video evidence so I didn’t have to face him, I sat in the courtroom beside Owen, hand clenched in his, and listened to the verdict with tears on my cheeks.
Not because I was afraid, but because I was finally free.
I didn’t run. I faced it. And I won.
So today? Today I bake.
Because we’re throwing a garden party. Nothing fancy, just The Raptors and a couple of the neighbours we’ve become friendly with.
There’s bunting across the fence and strings of fairy lights everywhere, and Sophie’s bringing the baby and her unbeatable lemon drizzle.
Ollie’s in charge of the BBQ. Murphy promised to bring beer, soft drinks, and a playlist that won’t scar the children.
Mia and Dylan are coming too, with a massive inflatable unicorn Lila insists will be the centrepiece of the event.
“Do we have enough buns?” I ask, checking the counter.
“We have so many buns,” Owen says. “Too many buns. An overwhelming number of buns.”
Lila adds, “I counted twenty-nine and a half.”
Owen raises an eyebrow. “Half?”
“I licked one.”
“Fair enough.”
JACKO
Watching Maya laugh with her head tilted back, face open, eyes bright, is like watching a miracle unfold. Every time. I don’t think it’ll ever get old.
She’s standing at the sink, elbow-deep in soapy water, talking to Dave like he’s a sentient pet.
“You good, mate?” she asks the bubbling jar. “Holding it together?”
Dave gurgles ominously.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she decides.
I sneak up behind her, slide my arms around her waist, and rest my chin on her shoulder. She leans into me without hesitation.
“I like this,” she says.
“Being stalked at the sink?”
“Being held while I pretend to wash things and you do none of the drying.”
“Bold of you to assume I don’t have a plan.”
She twists to look at me. “Which is?”
I kiss her. “This.”
“Mmm.” She hums against my lips. “Acceptable.”
Lila barrels into the room at that exact moment, holding a cupcake like it’s a golden egg. “Mummy! Daddy! Look! This one has extra sprinkles because it’s the main cupcake! It gets to greet all the others!”
Maya turns, beaming. “That’s a very friendly cupcake.”
“It’s got leadership skills,” I add seriously.
“Of course.” Lila nods, solemn.
We head out to the garden to start setting up. There’s a folding table covered in mismatched tablecloths, another one with drinks and crisps and cupcakes. Maya brings out the sourdough loaf, places it on a wooden board like it’s the centrepiece of an art exhibit. Dave has done her proud.
As guests arrive, laughter starts to fill the garden. Lila blows bubbles for everyone and runs through the sprinkler. Adults swap stories, sip drinks, compliment Lila’s ‘command centre’ made of deck chairs and hula hoops.
Finn sleeps in Sophie’s arms, a soft squish of contentment. Ollie grills with the intensity of a man trying to impress a Michelin inspector. Dylan is refereeing a game of football between toddlers and losing badly.
And Maya, my Maya, stands at the heart of it all. Smiling. Grounded. Whole.
Later, when the sun begins to dip and the fairy lights come on, I catch her looking around the garden like she can’t quite believe it’s real. Her hand slips into mine. I squeeze it gently.
“Still feel like running?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not even a little.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I finally unpacked my suitcase too.”
She laughs softly. “You did not.”
“It’s metaphorical. Let me have the moment.”
She turns and kisses me, slow and soft. Lila is dancing nearby in a tutu over her shorts, cupcake frosting on her nose, commanding the inflatable unicorn like a war general.
This is our life.
Chaos and cupcakes. Penguins and protection. Love in every crack and corner.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
MAYA
As the night draws in and the guests begin to drift away, I find myself in the kitchen again, barefoot, humming. Lila’s fallen asleep in Owen’s arms on the couch. The house is full of crumbs and laughter and sticky fingerprints.
And I feel light.
Not empty. Not floating. Just light.
Owen appears in the doorway, smiling, hair mussed, still wearing the gravy-stained apron.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m really okay.”
He comes to stand behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder again.
We look out the window together, at the garden strung with lights, at the table where the cupcakes once sat, at the home we made from all the broken pieces.
“I think we did it,” I whisper.
“We did,” he says. “We’re here.”
And we are.
Together.
Home.