Epilogue
Talon
Gideon’s living room smells like coffee, laundry detergent, and the lemon cookies Penelope made this morning. The TV murmurs in the background until the familiar news jingle snaps my attention up.
A reporter stands in front of a run-down crack house, police lights flickering behind her.
“Breaking update in the Abi Grant case. After a multi-state search, authorities located and arrested Jensen Rowe, alleged accomplice and long-term partner to Abigail Grant—known to investigators as the ‘Money Bags’ killer. Rowe was finally found and brought in for his role in multiple staged deaths.”
The camera cuts to Jensen being dragged out in cuffs, head down, hair greasy, shouting something unintelligible as officers shove him into the back of a cruiser.
My stomach knots, but not the way it used to. This time, it’s closure tightening every muscle, not fear.
The screen switches again—this time to an interview chair.
Randy.
Alive. Grey-haired. Noticeably healthier than the last time I ever saw him.
“Abi drained my accounts,” he says to the reporter. “Threatened to ‘finish cleaning me up’ if I didn’t keep quiet. I barely escaped. I thought no one would ever take me seriously.”
A picture of my father flashes across the screen. Then Todd.
Penelope reaches for the remote and places it in my hand.
I turn the TV off.
She leans against me, her head against my shoulder, her fingers slipping between mine.
On the couch across from us, Silas and Gideon are reviewing the paperwork spread across the coffee table—legal forms, social worker notes, custody options.
Minxy sits cross-legged between them, doodling on a notepad while stealing sips of Silas’s coffee.
She’s calmer now. Still sharp. Still loud. But lighter.
Alive.
And safe.
“The police in their search of Chad’s house found receipts that Abi rented a storage unit. Said the storage unit had everything,” Penelope murmurs. “Photos. Ledgers. Emails. Enough evidence to lock Jensen away for the rest of his life.”
“And enough to change your father’s death to a homicide and to lead them to Todd’s body,” Gideon adds.
“She thought Jensen was her ride-or-die,” Minxy says, twirling her pencil. “Guess he was more ride-or-definitely-die-later.”
Silas gives her a look, but she smirks and steals another sip of coffee.
The nightmare is over.
Now we figure out the life after.
Gideon closes the last file. “Social worker and CASA will be here at three. They’ll present all the options.”
Minxy frowns. “What’s CASA?”
“Court Appointed Special Advocates,” Gideon says. “They’re volunteers trained to speak up for kids in foster or protective cases. Their whole job is to make sure the judge knows what you want and what’s best for you—not what the system finds easiest.”
Silas nods. “Basically someone whose only loyalty is to you. Don’t worry though you’re not getting shipped anywhere you don’t want to be.”
“I know,” she says, softly. “I believe you.”
My chest tightens.
Penelope squeezes my hand. “You have choices, Minx. Real ones.”
Minxy looks at each of us—Silas, Gideon, me, then Penelope, with eyes that carry every bruise she lived through and every spark she’s rekindling.
“You four are insane,” she says. “But you’re my insane. I don’t want to lose that.”
Gideon smirks. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Silas drapes an arm around her shoulders. “You can stay with us, kid.”
“Or with just one of us,” Gideon adds.
“Or we can rotate,” I say. “Whatever’s healthiest. Whatever the state agrees to.”
Minxy rolls her eyes. “I know what I want. It’s not that deep.”
Penelope laughs, biting her lip. “She’s honest, I’ll give her that.”
“Runs in the family,” I mutter.
Silas leans back, stretching his arm across the couch behind Minxy. “Whatever the process looks like, she’s not going anywhere alone.”
“And she’s starting school fresh,” Penelope says proudly. “A whole new beginning.”
Minxy grins. “Freshman year’s gonna be lit.”
I snort, Gideon groans, and Silas mutters something about teenagers being feral.
This—this noise, this banter, this ease feels like a home we built ourselves.
Not perfect or traditional, but real.
Penelope leans into me again. “We made it.”
I kiss the top of her head, breathing her in. “We did.”
The clock ticks softly toward three. Toward meetings and decisions that shape the rest of our lives. But nothing feels heavy anymore—not with all of them here, not with a future finally wide open instead of caged.
“Whatever happens today,” I say, looking at all of them, “we figure it out together.”
Minxy lifts her chin. “Duh.”
Silas smirks. “Family meeting after?”
Gideon nods once. “Family meeting after.”
Penelope looks up at me through her lashes, soft and certain. “Family.”
Yeah.
That word doesn’t hurt anymore.
It fits.
For the first time since Dad died, for the first time since Abi tried to tear every piece of us apart—
We’re whole and heading into a future no one can take from us.
Our Happily Ever After isn’t a wedding or a fairy tale.
It’s survival.
It’s choosing each other.
It’s freedom.
And it’s just beginning.