Epilogue Jessica
JESSICA
ONE YEAR LATER
I'm suffering from morning sickness right in the middle of a client call.
My laptop displays a video call with Kinsley Kowalski, who's wearing a silk robe and holding a mimosa despite the early hour. She's planning her company's annual gala with five hundred guests, mountain venue, ice sculpture bar.
"So I'm thinking we do a winter wonderland theme, but make it sexy." Kinsley gestures with her mimosa. "Dramatic lighting. Maybe some aerial performers? Is that too much?"
"Aerial performers are never too much." I make a note on my tablet. "We'd need to check ceiling heights at the venue and coordinate with—"
The nausea hits me. I clamp my hand over my mouth and lurch out of my chair, knocking over cold coffee in my scramble for the bathroom.
Kinsley's voice follows me. "Jess? Are you okay?"
I don't answer. I'm too busy emptying my stomach into the toilet.
Footsteps in the hallway. The bathroom door opens.
Nacho appears, already dressed for his shift, badge gleaming. His dark eyes assess the situation with calm.
"Morning sickness again?"
"No, I'm hugging the toilet for fun." My voice comes out raspy.
He wets a washcloth and presses it to the back of my neck. The relief is immediate.
"You have a client call."
"I'm aware. I abandoned her mid-aerial-performer discussion to vomit."
"Kinsley will understand. She has three kids."
I lean back against the cool tile. "Stacey can handle the rest. She's better at the dramatic stuff anyway."
"She's at the Lakeside site today." Nacho crouches beside me. "How are you feeling?"
"Like death."
He helps me to my feet, steadying me. "Finish your call. I'll bring ginger tea before I leave for work."
I splash water on my face and return to my office. The mirror showed me a pale, messy disaster in Sergio's oversized t-shirt, but I've never been happier.
Kinsley is still on the call, looking concerned. "Everything okay?"
"Pregnancy feels great and sometimes crap at the same time.” I drop into my chair. "Now, about those aerial performers..."
Delacroix Events has become everything I dreamed.
Twelve active clients. A waiting list stretching into next year.
Corporate galas, product launches, milestone celebrations, charity auctions.
We've carved out a niche for mountain venue events which was Stacey's brilliant idea, and our reputation for creative solutions has spread through three counties.
Stacey has her own suite in the extension Carlos built, her own office next to mine, and a fifty-fifty partnership in the business. We complement each other perfectly—I handle the logistics and client relationships, she brings the creative vision and fearless execution.
"We're building an empire," she announced last week, halfway through a bottle of wine while I nursed ginger ale. "An event planning empire. With aerial performers and ice sculptures and peacock feathers."
"No peacock feathers," I reminded her.
"You're no fun when you're pregnant."
I can’t even disagree, because this is how I feel at the moment.
Through the bond, I feel Sergio's presence. He’s been working from home more, taking advantage of remote coaching opportunities so he can stay close during my pregnancy.
My phone buzzes. Sharon's contact photo lights up.
I answer immediately. “Hey.”
Sharon's laugh is tired but happy. "Just wanted to share some news. Can you video chat?"
I switch to video. Sharon appears on screen, looking exhausted but radiant. Behind her, I can see her office at Bourbon Bliss Weddings.
"You look terrible," I say fondly.
"Thanks. Morning sickness not getting any better.”
“I don’t even know why they call it that. At times it happens at any time of day.”
She grins. "Big news."
"You're pregnant again."
Her face falls. "How did you know?"
"You have that glow. Also you're drinking water which is very unlike you."
"Twins again." She sounds half-terrified, half-thrilled. "The universe apparently thinks I need four children."
"Congratulations! That's amazing. Terrifying, but amazing."
"Wait, there's more." Sharon leans closer to the camera. "Savannah's pregnant too. Due two months after me."
My eyes water. "You're both at the same time?”
"Four babies between us in eight months. And we’ve never been happier." She pauses. "How are you doing? Really?"
"I'm good. The business is thriving. Stacey's amazing. The pack is overprotective but sweet about it. Mom's living her best life in Mexico with her thirty-three-year-old boyfriend. And her house sale went through smoothly, but I still walk past the old house. Memories and all that.”
“I can imagine that you’re still missing your dad.”
I do at times, but then I switch the subject. Whenever I mention dad either I put on a face, or the room goes quiet.
“Mom wants me to visit again.”
"Are you going?"
“After the birth, I can’t now.”
We talk for another twenty minutes before we hang up, I'm smiling so hard my face hurts.
Sharon and Savannah. Both pregnant. Both living proof that running from the wrong thing leads you straight to the right thing.
That evening, Nacho comes home with news.
I'm in the kitchen making tea when he enters, still in uniform. His expression is carefully neutral, but I feel the weight through the bond.
"What is it?"
"Callum's sentencing was today." He pulls off his badge, sets it on the counter. "The prosecutor called."
The name doesn't spike my anxiety anymore. It's been a year of healing. Of building something new.
"How long?"
"Twenty-five years. No parole for fifteen."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Footsteps on the stairs. Sergio, Carlos, and Pedro appear, they must have felt my emotion through the bond.
"Callum?" Sergio asks.
"Twenty-five years." I lean against the counter. "Fifteen before parole."
"That's steep," Carlos says.
"It's not enough," Pedro's voice is hard. "For what he did."
"It's enough for me." The words surprise even me. "It's closure. He can't hurt anyone else. That girl in New York got justice, and so did the others who came forward once the trial hit the news.”
Sergio's hands settle on my shoulders. "You were always free. From the moment you didn’t marry him.”
"I know. But this makes it final." I look up at my pack. "He has gone."
"How do you feel?" Pedro asks gently.
I think about it.
"Sad," I admit. "For the waste of it all. He had every advantage and threw it away to hurt people. But mostly?" I place my hand over my small bump. "I'm grateful. Because his choices led me here."
"His loss," Carlos says. "Our gain."
"Can we be done with Callum now?" I ask. "Can this be the last time?"
"Yes." Sergio's voice is firm. "He's the past. We're the future."
We move to the living room. I settle into the center, my pack arranging themselves around me. The baby flutters inside me. "Moving again," I whisper.
Four hands find my bump immediately. We wait. Breathe together. A tiny kick.
Pedro's face transforms with wonder. "Strong."
"Takes after their mother," Carlos says.
"And their fathers," I add.
"All four of them." I close my eyes, feeling the bond pulse with love and contentment.
Callum Morrison got twenty-five years. We got forever.
And our child will grow up knowing what real love looks like. Messy, complicated, built from second chances and the courage to run toward the right thing.