Epilogue
Kia
Over the past few weeks, the creak of the rocking chair has become a familiar sound.
It’s one I never realized could be so comforting.
Not only is my heart full, but so are my arms. My son is impossibly tiny, resting against my chest, his small fist curled into the fabric of my shirt.
Every so often, he makes a sound that’s half-sigh, half-protest before settling again.
I rock back and forth without thinking, the motion slow and steady. It’s the rhythm I’ve learned he likes best.
We decorated the nursery in pale shades of blue.
The colors are calming, and I can’t help but linger in this space even when he’s asleep.
Late afternoon light spills through the window, catching on the walls and the mobile Laiken insisted on assembling himself.
It took him three attempts, along with a handful of muttered curses, before he finally got it right.
Elody is sprawled a few feet away on the rug with her coloring books, legs tucked beneath her, humming the same melody she learned at school and has been obsessed with for weeks. Every so often, she glances up to check on her brother before returning to whatever masterpiece she’s working on.
I was so afraid she might feel displaced once the baby came. That she’d feel pushed aside and forgotten.
But it’s been the opposite.
She’s the best big sister—eager, gentle, and endlessly curious. The image of Elody cradling Logan in her arms, holding the bottle steady with fierce concentration, was enough to bring tears to my eyes.
This is the life I never let myself imagine.
And now, it’s mine.
I rest my cheek against my son’s downy head and close my eyes, breathing him in.
Laiken appears in the doorway a moment later, moving cautiously, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the serene scene.
He leans against the frame, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching us with that expression he gets when he’s taking it all in.
As if, like me, he still can’t believe this is his life.
Our life.
When his gaze meets mine, contentment blooms in my chest.
“Are you okay?” he mouths.
I nod. The truth is, I’m more than okay. And it has everything to do with the quiet man watching me with love shining in his eyes. His presence alone has the power to steady me.
He crosses the room and rests his hand on the back of the chair, fingers brushing my shoulder as he looks down at the baby. “Has he been sleeping long?”
“About fifteen minutes,” I whisper.
Still humming, Elody scoots closer before peering up at us. “He likes it when Mommy rocks him,” she says. “It makes him calm.”
I smile at her. “You’re absolutely right. It does.”
Laiken’s hand slides lower until it rests against the baby’s back.
I glance around the room, absorbing every detail, wanting to lock it away.
There’s a crib waiting for when Logan’s older, a neat stack of diapers on the dresser, and Elody’s drawings taped crookedly to the wall so the baby can see them when he’s being changed.
It’s all evidence of a life being lived.
Of a family flourishing.
Then there’s the man beside me. The one who chose us—not out of obligation or duty, but because he understood we belonged here. That we didn’t disrupt his life.
We completed it.
Emotion swells in my chest, and I pull the baby a little closer as memories rush in.
I think about standing in the bathroom in my apartment and staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines.
About the fear and doubt that crashed over me.
How impossible this future once felt, and how convinced I was that I wouldn’t get it right.
Slowly, I let that version of myself fade away, making room to embrace my new reality.
“I love you,” I whisper, my hand pressed to my son’s tiny back, Laiken’s bigger one covering mine. “And I love the life we’ve created.”
“I love it too,” he murmurs. “And I love you… and our kids.”
In this man, I found my forever.
Just like he found his in me.