Epilogue
Valeria
Sunday morning, a week after we returned home, everyone is here to celebrate Sabrina’s arrival.
We brought out the new patio furniture and fired up the grill.
Andrea and Dante are in charge of the barbecue, carrying themselves with the quiet authority of men convinced they know exactly what they’re doing. Vadim and Arnaud are locked in a silent battle over pizza—thick or thin, the debate is clearly far from settled. The table is overflowing with food.
Bernadette and Amelia fuss over Sabrina, who accepts all this attention with the regal calm of a baby who already understands the world belongs to her. Hugo tries to empty the appetizer tray as fast as Stephen and Matthieu refill it—and is clearly losing the fight.
Mara came with her younger sister, Emelyne. As for Louane, she brought her husband.
Everywhere, there are animated conversations, bursts of laughter, the clatter of cutlery, the scent of wood smoke and grilled meat.
I stand in the doorway and take it all in.
I close my eyes. I breathe slowly.
The tension is still there.
Less sharp than before. Less cutting.
But present—like an old scar that aches when the weather changes. You learn to live with it. You learn not to fear it anymore.
So I do the one thing I’ve never really known how to do.
I let go.
I step out of the shadows and into the light.
Dante appears beside me—I didn’t hear him approach—and slips an arm around my shoulders with the ease of someone who knows exactly where he belongs.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my hair.
And for the first time, I stop holding my breath.
Our daughter is safe.
Our people are here.
And the sun beats down on this garden that smells like life.
I have no intention of wasting a single minute of it.
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