Epilogue Two
Life is Perfect
Emma
6 Years Later
T he smell of pancakes drifts through the house, rich and warm, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Sunlight streams through the kitchen windows, dappling the countertops and casting a soft golden glow over the scene. Ethan stands at the stove, his hair slightly tousled, wearing a pair of grey sweats, thank god those were created, and a soft T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders.
“Daddy, more chocolate chips!” a small voice demands, her tone laced with the same kind of stubbornness I see in Ethan when he’s set on something.
Our three-year-old daughter, Ava, is perched on the counter beside him, wielding a wooden spoon like a sword. She has flour smudged on her cheek, her curls are a wild halo around her face, and she looks so much like Ethan it’s almost ridiculous .
Ethan chuckles, shaking his head. “More chocolate chips, huh? You sure? I think we’ve already used enough to make a bakery jealous.”
“More!” Ava insists, clapping her hands together and causing a small puff of flour to rise like smoke.
“Alright, alright,” he concedes, grabbing the bag and sprinkling in an exaggerated handful. “But if Mommy gets mad, I’m blaming you.”
I lean against the doorway, a steaming mug of coffee in my hands, watching the scene unfold. “You’re blaming a three-year-old? Really? That’s low, even for you.”
Ethan glances back at me, his grin wide and unrepentant. “It’s called teamwork.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply, stepping into the kitchen and setting my mug on the counter. “Where’s Max?”
“Outside with Bella,” Ethan says, flipping a pancake with a practiced flick of his wrist. “He’s on round three of trying to teach her to fetch. I told him not to hold his breath.”
“Smart advice,” I say with a laugh. Bella, our golden retriever, is the most lovable dog on the planet but has the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to fetch.
“How’s the new book coming?” Ethan asks as he slides another golden pancake onto the growing stack .
“Good,” I say, grabbing a blueberry from the bowl on the counter. “I’m thinking about calling it Chasing Forever. You know, for the irony.”
His grin widens as he turns to face me fully. “Let me guess—you’re dedicating it to me?”
“Obviously,” I say with a wink. “It’ll read: To my husband, who insists on taking all the credit for my inspiration but still can’t make coffee without setting off the smoke detector.”
“Hey!” Ethan protests, tossing a dish towel at me. Ava giggles, clapping her hands as if I’ve just performed the greatest magic trick of all time.
“Mommy, no more work,” she declares, grabbing my hand with sticky fingers. “Eat pancakes!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, lifting her off the counter and onto my hip. She snuggles into me, her head resting against my shoulder in a way that makes my heart squeeze.
Ethan joins us at the table, carrying the plate of pancakes like it’s a treasure. Max runs in from the backyard, his hair sticking up in every direction, his face flushed with the kind of energy only a six-year-old can manage. Bella trots in after him, her tail wagging furiously, a slobbery stick clamped between her teeth.
“She fetched it!” Max exclaims, holding up the stick triumphantly. “Look, Dad! ”
“Miracles do happen,” Ethan says, ruffling Max’s hair before setting the plate down.
The table becomes a whirlwind of syrup spills, sticky hands, and nonstop chatter. Ava insists on eating her pancakes with her fingers, Max keeps trying to sneak more syrup onto his plate, and Bella makes her rounds, hoping for dropped scraps.
And through it all, there’s Ethan, his eyes meeting mine across the table, a soft smile tugging at his lips. It’s chaos, but it’s ours.
After breakfast, we clean up together, Ethan washing dishes while I dry. Max and Ava are in the living room, sprawled out on the floor with crayons and coloring books, their laughter music to my ears. Bella lies nearby, her head resting on her paws, looking utterly content.
“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” I ask, glancing over at Ethan.
He pauses, a plate in his hands, and looks at me. “Every day,” he says simply, his voice filled with quiet conviction.
I set the towel down, stepping closer to him. “It still feels surreal sometimes, you know? This life we’ve built.”
He places the plate in the rack and turns to face me fully, his hands settling on my waist. “It’s not surreal, Em. It’s real. And it’s ours. ”
His words, simple as they are, hit me hard. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that feels like a promise.
“Mom! Dad!” Max’s voice breaks through the moment, and we both turn to see him standing in the doorway, holding up a drawing. “Look what I made!”
We walk over, Ethan crouching down to Max’s level as Ava toddles over to join him. The drawing is a chaotic but endearing mess of stick figures—Ethan, me, Max, Ava, and Bella—standing in front of a house with a big, bright sun overhead.
“It’s perfect,” Ethan says, ruffling Max’s hair. “You’re a natural artist, buddy.”
Max beams, his pride evident, and I can’t help but smile. This—this is everything I’ve ever wanted.
Later, as the kids nap and the house falls into a rare, peaceful quiet, Ethan and I sit on the porch swing, his arm draped around my shoulders. The sun is warm, the air filled with the sound of birds and the faint rustling of leaves.
“You know,” he says, his voice low, “I’d chase you all over again. Every single time.”
I look up at him, my heart full. “You’ll never have to,” I say softly. “It’s only ever been you.”
His smile is warm, full of the kind of love that anchors me, making me feel like I’ve finally found where I belong.
And as we sit there, the world quiet and perfect around us, I know that this life we’ve built isn’t just a dream. It’s our forever.