Epilogue
CALDER
Five Years Later – Valentine’s Day
The cabin smells like cinnamon and coffee, the way it always does when Wren’s up before me on holidays.
I crack one eye open, expecting to find her curled against my chest like usual, but the bed’s empty except for the warm dent where she was.
Bear’s head lifts from the rug at the foot of the bed, ears perked, tail thumping once like he’s saying she’s up to something, Dad.
I grin despite myself. That dog’s been glued to her side since the night she stumbled into Mae’s diner, half-frozen and half-feral from running. He’d sniffed her boots, licked her hand, and decided she was his. I hadn’t argued. Hell, I’d felt the same way the second I saw her.
I roll out of bed, tug on flannel pajama pants, and pad down the hall.
The living room glows soft with morning light filtering through snow-dusted windows.
Pink and red paper hearts are taped crookedly across the mantel, our daughter’s handiwork.
Kailey is three now, all dark curls like her mama’s and stubborn streak like mine.
She’s perched on a stool at the counter, tongue poking out as she spreads frosting on heart-shaped pancakes.
Wren’s beside her, round with our second, another girl, the ultrasound said, wearing my old flannel shirt that barely buttons over her belly anymore.
My chest tightens the way it still does every damn day. Like I can’t quite believe this is real. That she stayed. That she chose me. That the scared girl who showed up with nothing is now my wife, my everything, carrying our family like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Morning, sweetheart,” I rumble, voice still thick with sleep.
Wren turns, and that smile, God, that smile, hits me square in the chest. “Morning, Daddy.” She says it soft, just for me, the way she knows drives me crazy. Kailey giggles, oblivious, smearing more frosting on her cheek.
I cross the room in three strides, wrap my arms around Wren from behind, hands splaying over her belly. The baby kicks right into my palm like she knows I’m here. “She’s active this morning.”
“She’s like her sister,” Wren murmurs, leaning back into me. “Never sits still.”
I press a kiss to her neck, breathing her in, vanilla, coffee, home. “You sleep okay?”
“Mostly.” She tilts her head to meet my eyes. “Dreamed about the old house for the first time in years. Woke up and you were there. Made it easy to forget.”
My jaw tightens for half a second but then I exhale.
Alex is gone. Locked up where he belongs after the charges stuck when he showed up here that one winter night thinking he could drag her back.
I hadn’t needed to lay a hand on him the sheriff did the rest. Wren pressed every charge, got her money returned with interest from the sale of that damn house and she never looked back.
I turn her gently, cup her face. “You’re safe. Always will be.”
“I know.” Her eyes shine. “I’ve got you, Kailey, and Bear. And this little one.” She covers my hand on her belly.
Kailey hops off the stool and runs over, arms up. “Up, Daddy!”
I scoop her one-armed, settle her on my hip. Bear trots over, nudging Wren’s leg like he’s checking on her too. She scratches behind his ears, and he leans into it with a contented huff.
“Pancakes?” Kailey demands, pointing at the counter.
“Pancakes,” I agree. “Then presents. Mama gets hers first.”
Wren blushes, still does, even after all this time, and I love it. I set Kailey down, pull a small velvet box from my pocket. Same one I used five years ago when I got down on one knee in this very room, snow falling outside, her saying yes through tears.
I open it. A new band—simple gold with a tiny diamond heart nestled next to her wedding ring. “Renewing my promise,” I tell her. “Every Valentine’s, every day. I’ll keep you safe. Keep you loved. Keep taking care of you, baby girl.”
She blinks fast, then throws her arms around my neck. “I love you, Calder.”
“Love you more.” I kiss her slow, deep, until Kailey tugs my pant leg and Bear woofs in protest.
We eat pancakes at the table, frosting everywhere, laughter filling the house. Later, we bundle up, Kailey on my shoulders, Wren tucked under my arm, and Bear bounding ahead through the snow.
She looks up at me, cheeks pink from the cold. “I never knew home could feel this safe.”
I stop, pull her close, kiss her forehead. “You gave me mine, Wren. Every piece of it.”
And as the snow falls softly around us, hearts still taped in the windows like the day she walked into my life, I know the truth down to my bones, she’s not running anymore. She’s home. We both are.