Epilogue
Remi
Four years later
If you would’ve told me four years ago that I’d be in a folding chair at a jiu-jitsu competition—wearing a “Team Bug” shirt while holding a glittery sign Paige and I made last night—I would’ve laughed and asked what kind of rom-com fever dream you were living in.
But here I am.
Married. Adopted mom of two girls who rewrote my definition of love. And standing beside a cheering section so large, we take up the entire first two rows.
Coleman’s beside me, one arm around my shoulder, the other resting on Paige’s head where she leans against him, alternating between doodling hearts in her notebook and shouting for her sister.
“Let’s go, Bug!” she yells, standing now, her little voice sharp and fierce.
Payton doesn’t look at us. She’s in the zone, her brow furrowed under her headgear, her opponent already backpedaling from whatever calm storm she’s about to unleash.
The mat ref blows the whistle, and the match starts.
And still, I find myself distracted.
Not because of nerves—but because of everything that surrounds us.
Coleman squeezes my arm. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” I ask, leaning in.
“Looking like you’re gonna cry.”
I smile. “You say that like it’s new.”
His lips brush my temple. “Still gets me every time.”
I glance around at our family—because that’s what this is.
Mom sitting on the other side of Paige, yelling louder than all of us.
Dad is next to her, his cane balanced between his knees, eyes shining with quiet pride.
My dad’s three seats down from Coleman, coaching Payton under his breath like she can hear him from here.
My mom’s filming with one hand and waving a ridiculous foam finger with the other.
And then there’s my brothers. All five of them. Shouting. Cheering. Their wives and kids are with them, all in matching shirts that say “Team Bug” on the front.
Langston is beside Oliver, holding one of his toddlers.
Nathan’s on the aisle with his wife, their toddler passed out on his lap.
Harvey stands behind everyone, arms crossed, looking like security—but he’s the one who screamed loudest when Payton got her first win.
And Dean? Well, he made it halfway through the door before being recognized by two kids from the local hockey team and pulled into photos. But he will be here before the end.
This is the life I never imagined.
This is the life I’d fight for a thousand times over.
It took almost a year after we got engaged, but eventually, Stella took the settlement. Coleman hated giving her anything—so did I—but he said something I’ll never forget.
“She doesn’t deserve a damn thing, but the girls deserve peace.”
And they got it.
We signed the adoption papers on Paige and Payton’s eleventh birthday. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way they both ran into my arms after the judge declared it official.
“Momma,” Paige whispered that day.
Payton didn’t say it. But she didn’t let go for nearly ten minutes.
Now?
Now they say it like they’ve said it forever.
And I never take it for granted.
The whistle blows again.
Payton’s arm is raised in the air.
She’s grinning.
We all erupt.
I’m on my feet before I know it, tears in my eyes, yelling as Paige races toward her twin, their arms wrapping around each other like they always do after a win.
My husband’s behind me, his hand sliding onto my growing stomach. He jokes that it's made me more emotional but we both know that is not true. It's us, this life we have built, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
“She’s incredible,” I whisper.
He nods. “They both are.”
He turns to me, eyes soft. “Still gets you every time?”
“Every damn time,” I whisper, resting my head on his chest.
Because this?This is the legacy we’re building.
From pain, from heartbreak, from the ashes of what could’ve destroyed us—came this entire cheering section. This entire life.
And we’re just getting started.