Extended Epilogue
SOREN
Five Years Later…
Graduation day.
Selena walks across the stage in her cap and gown, diploma in hand.
The auditorium is packed, but I only see her.
I stand in the audience holding our five-year-old daughter, who’s been waving a tiny hand the entire time her mother is up there.
When they call Selena’s name, the little one cheers so loudly several people turn and smile.
“That’s Mommy,” I tell her quietly.
She nods hard, pigtails bouncing. “Mommy smart.”
When the ceremony ends and the graduates start filing out, we wait near the side exit. Selena finds us quickly, still flushed and glowing, diploma tucked under her arm. She kisses our daughter first, then me.
“You came,” she says, like she still can’t quite believe it.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
We’re still standing there when I notice two familiar figures walking toward us through the crowd. Rick and Mom. They look older. Softer around the edges. Rick’s hair is more gray than I remember. Mom’s eyes are already tearing up.
Selena freezes for half a second. I feel her hand tighten in mine.
Rick looks at our daughter for a long time. Then he looks at Selena.
“You finished it,” he says, voice rough. “That’s all I ever wanted to see. I’m so proud of you.”
Selena’s eyes fill. “Dad?—”
He shakes his head, but it isn’t sharp anymore. Just honest.
“I was wrong about a lot of things. I thought if I pushed hard enough you’d stay perfect. Safe. I didn’t see I was the one making you hide. You chose him. And you’re happy. That’s what matters now.”
Mom steps closer. Our little girl reaches for her right away, completely unafraid.
“Nana,” she says, clear as day.
Selena’s eyes go wide. She looks from our daughter to Mom. “You’re Nana? She’s been trying to tell us for months that a kind lady always plays with her and gives her candy in the garden. We just couldn’t figure out who.”
Mom laughs through her tears and takes the child carefully into her arms. “I’ve been sneaking over when you’re both at work. I couldn’t stay away. She has Soren’s eyes. I see him every time I look at her.”
Rick puts a hand on her back. His voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it.
“I told her not to at first. I was still too angry. Too proud. But I learned to soften too. It took me almost losing my whole family to realize how my pride and arrogance made all of you feel voiceless. Unloved. Untaken care of. Not anymore.”
He looks at me then. Really looks.
“I was hard on you from the day you walked into that house. I treated you like an outsider. That was my failure. Not yours.”
I keep my arm around Selena and say the only thing that needs saying.
“Thank you, Mom. Dad.”
Rick nods once. That is enough.
We end up back at our house for an early dinner.
It’s the first time Rick and Mom have been inside since the hospital.
The little one refuses to leave Mom’s lap for the first hour.
She shows her every toy, every book, every crayon drawing taped to the fridge.
Rick sits on the living room floor with her and lets her climb all over him like he’s been doing it for years.
The same man who once ordered me out of his house melts every time she calls him Papa.
Mom’s laugh carries through the rooms the way it used to, before everything broke.
Selena keeps glancing at me like she’s waiting for the peace to shatter. It doesn’t.
When they finally leave after sunset, the house feels both fuller and quieter at the same time.
I find Selena in the kitchen doorway, watching the empty driveway.
I walk up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and rest my mouth at her neck.
“You okay?”
She leans back into me. “Yeah. Just… processing. I never thought we’d get this back.”
“We did,” I say. “And we’re keeping it.”
I turn her around and kiss her slow and deep. She tastes like the wine we had with dinner and something sweeter underneath.
“Later,” I murmur against her lips. “When the little one is completely asleep and the house is ours again. You already know it. I’m not done with you.”
She smiles. “I know.”
“I’m never done with you,” I say. “Never done breeding you.”
She lets out a little laugh. In return, I kiss her deep. Remind her she’s still mine. Always will be.
She melts against me with that sweet, knowing smile. Our bond only becomes stronger with every year and every child we will have.