Epilogue
Sloane
Pink and gold fireworks explode across the black sky above Elm Hollow, turning the night into an endless rain of sparks.
The crowd is completely unhinged—signs waving, people screaming, camera flashes popping like lightning.
At the center of the stage, beneath a storm of heart-shaped confetti, there’s the most beautiful chaos I’ve ever seen.
Aunt Tina stands on a crystal podium, dressed in a fire-engine-red gown so covered in Swarovski crystals it’s probably visible from space. She grips the microphone like a scepter, and her amplified voice makes the mountains tremble.
“AND HERE WE ARE! THE MOMENT OF TRUTH!” Tina shouts as triumphant music swells.
The broadcast cuts quickly to the podium.
In third place: Silas and Daisy.
Daisy bounces on her toes with a flower crown on her head, while Silas—usually so serious—holds an oversized check, smiling so brightly it lights up his whole face.
“For the new wing of the veterinary clinic!” Tina announces. “Elm Hollow’s puppies thank you!”
Daisy launches herself at him, and he catches her mid-jump, laughing. It’s exactly the happy ending they deserved.
In second place: Lucy and Lars.
They’re the very definition of sweet. Lars, massive in his formal flannel shirt, holds Lucy’s tiny hand like it’s made of glass. The crowd adores them. They’ve won the critics’ award—and probably the heart of every grandmother watching at home.
“BUT NOW…” Tina’s voice cracks with emotion. “For first place overall… for the jaw-dropping charity prize… and for the exclusive contract with our Official Sponsor, Diamond Love…”
The strobe lights go wild.
“THE WINNERS OF THE FIRST SEASON OF Love Goals ARE—”
The camera cuts rapidly between the finalists.
Lucy and Lars, holding hands, calm and happy just to be together.
Silas looking at Daisy like she’s a natural disaster he’s decided to love forever.
And then—us.
On the screen, my face is a mix of shock and adrenaline. Cohen stands beside me wearing that smile. That smile. The one that says, I told you so, Angel.
“…SLOANE AND COHEN!”
The roar from the crowd is deafening.
On the screen, pixelated Cohen grabs my waist, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and kisses me—cinematic, front-page, season-finale worthy. Pedro flies overhead, squawking “Victory!” while Nino tries to hand us a golden trophy almost as tall as I am without getting buried in confetti.
It’s perfect chaos.
It’s the triumph of love, strategy, and Elm Hollow insanity.
It’s the moment when everything feels possible.
Click.
The image freezes.
The kiss hangs suspended midair in a grainy but beautiful still frame. Cohen’s smile is frozen—eternal.
I lower the remote.
Silence fills the room, soft and warm, replacing the roar of the crowd.
I sink back into the couch cushions and take a deep breath.
I’m no longer on that icy stage.
I’m in the Heart family living room.
I turn toward the armchairs by the fireplace, and the sight there squeezes my heart in the sweetest way.
My dad and Cohen.
Not the Coach and his problematic player.
Just two men sitting by the fire, crystal glasses in hand reflecting the flames. My dad is relaxed—jacket draped over the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up. He’s speaking quietly, gesturing lightly, and Cohen… Cohen is listening.
Not with that guarded locker-room posture. He’s leaning in, attentive, respectful. He chuckles softly at something my dad says, shaking his head, and in that simple gesture I see a lightness I’ve never seen in him before.
I see a son who’s finally found a father who doesn’t judge him—only welcomes him.
And speaking of fathers… Cohen’s father tried to resurface after the show. He’s now being firmly discouraged by the files Dominic stored on that flash drive.
Cohen and Grace are free. Finally.
My dad reaches out and gives Cohen a casual pat on the knee—so informal, so affectionate it almost makes me cry. A silent approval. A welcome to the family that means more than a thousand speeches.
“I hope you left some room,” my mom announces, walking in from the kitchen trailing cinnamon-scented air.
She’s holding a steaming apple pie, golden and perfect, like it belongs in a commercial.
She sets it on the coffee table.
“Mom, it’s beautiful,” I say, inhaling the heavenly smell.
Dad sets his glass down. Mom perches on the arm of his chair. He immediately wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in.
They exchange a look.
One of those long, loaded looks couples married for twenty years use to communicate entire paragraphs without saying a word.
“Kids,” my dad begins, clearing his throat. His tone is serious. Too serious. “Before we cut the pie… Katherine and I need to tell you something.”
My heart stops.
Literally.
This is it.
The whispers. Mom’s exhaustion. Dad leaving the club.
Panic rises up my throat like bile.
Then I feel a warm hand wrap around mine.
Cohen.
He’s moved beside me on the couch, squeezing my hand tightly, fingers laced with mine. He doesn’t look at me—he looks at my parents—but his thumb strokes the back of my hand in a steady, reassuring rhythm.
I’m here.
“Sloane, sweetheart,” my mom says softly, her eyes shining. “You know this year has been… intense. And your father and I have thought a lot about the future.”
“Mom, please,” I whisper. “Just say it.”
Dad tightens his arm around her waist, looking at her with a love so deep it steals my breath.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he says gently. “At least… we hope it won’t be for you.”
He smiles—nervous, emotional—and nods to her.
“Your turn, Kat.”
She looks at me, her eyes full of pure joy and absolute terror about my reaction.
“Sloane…” Her voice is an emotional whisper. “Your dad and I… we’re having a baby.”
Silence explodes in the room.
Louder than any fireworks.
I blink. Once. Twice.
My brain tries to process the words, but they feel like a foreign language.
A baby?
I look at my mom. She’s forty-two. She’s beautiful, vibrant—but she has a twenty-five-year-old daughter. I thought that chapter was long closed for them.
I look at my dad and see an expression I’ve never seen before.
He’s not just happy.
He’s moved.
Then I feel Cohen beside me. His hand squeezes mine even tighter, anchoring me. When I turn to him, he’s smiling—wide, sincere, admiring—at my parents.
“Wow,” he murmurs, shaking his head respectfully. “Congratulations, Coach. Truly. That’s incredible.”
His calm lets me breathe again. The panic evaporates, replaced by shock.
“Pregnant?” I croak. “Mom? But… I mean… did it just—”
She shakes her head, answering before I can finish.
“It wasn’t an accident, sweetheart. We wanted this. We chose it.”
She exchanges a look with my dad so intimate it almost makes me feel like I’m intruding.
“When you were born, we were kids,” my dad adds, taking her hand. “Seventeen. Scared. I tried to build a career to give you stability, but I was always away… we did our best, but we missed a lot.”
Mom looks at me, eyes glossy.
“Now that he’s leaving the club, now that we finally have time and stability… we wanted to live this experience together. Truly together. Without fear of the future. Without constant travel.”
“We didn’t tell you because…” she hesitates, biting her lip. “At our age, it’s not simple. We did tests, checkups. We waited until we were sure everything was okay before saying anything. We were afraid of hoping. But now… now it’s safe.”
I stand up. My legs tremble—but not from fear.
They planned this.
They chose to start again.
They chose love—again.
A little brother. Or sister.
Someone twenty-five years younger than me.
It’s absurd. It’s insane. It’s… beautiful.
I throw myself at them, hugging them both, burying my face in my mom’s neck that smells like pie and new beginnings.
“I’m so happy,” I sob, realizing it’s the absolute truth. “You’re crazy—but I’m so happy for you.”
“We love you too, sweetheart,” my dad says, kissing the top of my head. His voice vibrates against my chest. “We just wanted the family to feel complete.”
He extends an arm over my shoulder toward the couch.
“Come here, Cohen. Don’t just stand there.”
Cohen stands, hesitates for a second, looking at me for confirmation. I smile through my tears and nod.
He steps forward, and my dad pulls him into the hug, giving him that familiar shoulder pat—the one I now know means I care about you.
“I hope you’re ready,” my dad grumbles, eyes laughing. “In a few months there’ll be a screaming newborn around here. I’ll need backup.”
“You can count on me, Coach,” Cohen replies warmly. “I’m good with screaming. Ask your daughter.”
I laugh, and my mom squeezes my hand.
We’re all there—four of us—in the warm living room of the Heart house.
My parents beginning again.
Cohen and me just starting.
And as I watch the man I love fit perfectly into this imperfect, beautiful picture, I realize something.
The real prize wasn’t winning a reality show.
It was finding the courage to bet everything on love.
Just like they did.
THANK YOU FOR READING Queen of Hearts!