Epilogue The Gathered Fragments of Us
Day One—(Felicity)
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked Macy for the third time, watching her help Zoe with a puzzle at the kitchen table.
It had been six weeks since Jessica's funeral. She’d been doing great.
The most resilient kid I’ve ever heard of, yet the thought of leaving her felt like abandoning a bird with a broken wing.
“Felicity, I’m fine,” Macy said, not looking up from the puzzle piece she was examining. “Aunt Maliyah is here. Dr. Chen says you guys need time together and—well I need time away from you guys!” At that, she looked up at me, eyes wide—making a point. Okay, got it. We are smothering you.
“Point taken.” I smirked and sighed at the same time. Brad was firmly locked away, no chance of that changing in this lifetime given all that had happened.
Maliyah appeared in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. “We’re going to have the best time. Movie marathons, pancake dinners, maybe even some late-night ice cream if certain people finish their homework.”
Lucas looked up hopefully. “Even me?”
“Especially you, buddy.” Maliyah smiled at her son. It was so good to have her home. I can’t wait to see what the future will bring for her.
Caden wheeled our suitcases to the door, and I noticed how amazing this felt. Doing life together, not watching him rush off to a business trip, and neither of us running for our lives!
“Two weeks,” I said, still hardly believing it. Walking up to my husband, I said, “We’re really doing this.”
“Fourteen days,” he corrected with a small smile. “Two days for every year we’ve been married. I figured we had some catching up to do.” He leaned forward, placing his forehead on mine, and smiled.
His words and the gesture hit me square in the chest. This wasn’t just a vacation—it was a promise. A commitment to making up for lost time, one day at a time.
Then we heard Macy’s voice call out, “If you’re going to make out, could you do it on the other side of the door? Gross.”
Day Two — Vermont (Caden)
The inn near Stowe was everything I’d hoped for—rustic but elegant, there was a stunning fireplace that didn’t just look nice, but it actually worked.
Our room had a view of mountains painted in shades of October garnet, coffee, and gold.
Felicity had spent the morning on the small balcony with her coffee, just watching the leaves dance on the wind, drifting down, as they fell from their branches a little at a time.
I’d been carrying the sweater in my bag since we left Boston, wrapped in tissue paper like it was something precious instead of the slightly lopsided disaster it actually was.
I’d started it soon after Jessica had passed, teaching myself from YouTube videos during lunch breaks—and truth be told during conference calls that droned on.
The first attempt looked like it belonged on a scarecrow. The second wasn’t much better.
“I have something for you,” I said, pulling the package from my bag.
She looked surprised. “Already? We just got here."
“It’s not... it’s not what you’d expect.” I handed her the tissue-wrapped bundle, suddenly nervous—my hands sweating. “I made it myself.”
She unwrapped it carefully, and I watched her face as she held up the navy-blue sweater. It was wool, as tradition called for on our seventh anniversary. It was clearly handmade by someone who was horribly unfamiliar with how to hold knitting needles.
“Caden,” she said softly, running her fingers over the uneven stitches—one of her fingers catching in a loop. My God, what was I thinking—it was awful. “You made this?” She asked.
“I know it’s terrible. I spent weeks on it at work—Nathan kept finding me in my office with yarn everywhere.
But I wanted to give you something I’d actually put time into.
Real time.” She slipped it on over her shirt.
It was slightly too big in the shoulders and a little short in the arms—one arm seemed shorter than the other.
Damn it. But she didn’t seem to care and instead wore it like it was cashmere.
“It’s perfect,” she said, and I could hear she meant it. “You’re right when you said it was something I wouldn’t expect. It’s much better than I would expect. This shows your heart and tells me where you invested your time.”
“There’s something else,” I said after clearing my throat. “But that’s for a different day.”
“I don’t need anything else. I love this.” She looked down at my handiwork, running her hands along the stitching, smiling the whole time. My heart couldn’t even fathom this woman and the love it felt for her.
Day Five — New Hampshire (Felicity)
The Kancamagus Highway was everything the travel guides promised—a tunnel of red and gold stretching through the White Mountains. We’d stopped at every scenic overlook we could, taking pictures of every kind—silly, fun, serious, scenic. You name it, our phones captured it.
We breathed in the crisp October air every chance we could. October weather in New England isn’t the most predictable, but the sunny days were worth a hundred of the gray ones, and we had so many sunny ones that it was like a down payment on the winter to come.
Caden had been different on this trip. Not just attentive, but wholly and completely present. No phone calls with work. No distracted conversations. When I spoke, he listened like my words were the most important thing in his universe.
We were walking along a trail near the Swift River when he stopped suddenly.
“This feels right,” he said, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.
My heart jumped. “Caden, we’re already married.”
He laughed. “Not that kind of box. Though I like that your mind went there.” He kissed me first, then stepped back and opened the box.
I leaned forward and saw the most delicate earrings I’d ever seen—tiny forget-me-nots crafted from black onyx petals with opal centers that caught the light like captured fire.
“Forget-me-nots?” I whispered, taking one from the box to examine it closer.
“For remembrance. And onyx for our seventh anniversary, opal for October.” He took the earring from my hand and gently brushed my hair aside. “But mostly because I never want you to forget that you are seen. You are remembered. You are loved.”
I put them in my ears, feeling the slight weight of them, as he explained, “I found a local artist who makes jewelry. I asked if she could make something custom with the shape and stones I showed her. It took her a little while, but I think she knocked it out of the park.” I smiled at the thought behind the time he spent on even this gift.
“How do they look?” I asked.
“Like you,” he said simply. “Beautiful.”
Day Eight — Maine Coast (Caden)
The sailing trip on Casco Bay had been Felicity’s idea—she’d seen the brochure at the resort and mentioned how peaceful it looked. We’d booked it immediately.
Now we were out on the water, the October wind filling the sails, and I was watching my wife laugh as spray misted over the bow.
I was grateful we were decked out for a cold day because it was freezing.
And even in the cold, covered in layer after layer, with a hooded anorak, she was the most stunning thing I’d ever seen.
Her hair was escaping from the ponytail and out the sides of her hood, yet nothing stole her smile.
“Take the wheel,” the captain said to me. “She’s all yours.”
I’d expected to be nervous, but it felt natural. Felicity and I worked together to adjust the sail, her hands covering mine on the wheel, both of us learning something new, but thanking God we weren’t alone since I’m pretty sure we weren’t cut out to be sailors in real life.
“I love this,” she said, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the sun. “I love being here with you. I love everything about this trip.”
“What else do you want to do?” I asked.
“Everything,” she said without hesitation.
“Everything?”
“Why not? We have time. We have each other.” She looked at me with eyes bright from wind and possibility. “We have our whole lives ahead of us.”
Day Twelve — Acadia National Park (Felicity)
Cadillac Mountain at sunset was Caden’s surprise for our actual anniversary date. We’d hiked up the easier trail in the afternoon, and now we were sitting on the granite summit with the entire Maine coast spread out below us.
He’d secreted a few small champagne bottles into his pack. He broke out wood cutting board and covered it with cheese and fruit, poured us some champagne, and set out a blanket for us to sit. I swear it was like something out of a movie.
“You really thought of everything,” I said, gesturing at the setup.
“I tried,” he admitted. “I wanted our anniversary to be something we’d never forget. I intend to never forget a single moment with you ever again.”
“Hard to believe how we almost lost this,” I said quietly. “All of it.”
“But we didn’t.” He reached for my hand, running his thumb over my wedding ring. “We fought for it. We chose each other. We chose our family—one day at a time, you chose me, though I was so deeply unworthy.”
His words held truth—hard truth, but truth, nonetheless.
I thought of that conversation I’d had with the woman on the plane, realizing something she’d said still resonated with me.
She’d mentioned something to the effect that love changes through the years.
That it doesn’t mean it disappears, but that it does still look different.
I looked at my husband. Looked at the years on his face that hadn’t been there years ago. I looked at the love in his eyes—a love that looked so different from the love I’d seen for so long. I saw the truth in his words. I chose him—one day at a time. And I was glad for it.
The sun was setting behind us, painting the ocean in shades of pink and gold. In the distance, I could see the lighthouse at Bass Harbor, its beam beginning to sweep across the darkening water.
“I have something to tell you,” I said.
Caden looked concerned. “What?”
“I’m happy,” I said simply. “Really, truly happy. Not just content or okay, but actually happy. And it’s not because of this trip, though this has been incredible. It’s because of us. Because of the ‘us’ we’ve become.”
Day Fourteen — The Drive Home (Caden)
The two weeks had passed too quickly and not quickly enough. We’d visited covered bridges and maple syrup farms, taken the cog railway up Mount Washington, spent hours walking through Mystic Seaport. But more than the sights, I’d discovered my wife—the wife of today.
I’d watched her try lobster for the first time (she hated it and said she’d be happy to stick to crab legs any day), seen her bargain with a vendor at a craft fair in Vermont (she won), listened to her sing along badly to classic rock songs as we drove the scenic routes (she was borderline tone-deaf and didn’t care—neither did I though).
“I don’t want to go back to real life,” she said as we crossed into Massachusetts.
“This is real life,” I said. “This is what we’re choosing. Maybe not fourteen-day trips every month, but this—” I gestured between us, “—this attention to each other, this presence. This is our real life now.”
She was quiet for a while, watching the familiar landscape of home appear outside the windows.
“Macy texted,” she said finally. “She and Maliyah made dinner for us. And Lucas apparently helped Zoe make us dessert.”
“Is that a good thing? Or are we looking at a creative dessert?” I asked, eyes wide and a little nervous about the possibilities.
“Ha! I think we’ll have to wait and see.”
We both laughed, and I realized how natural it felt now, this easy back-and-forth between us. The trip wasn’t meant to be a fix—but it had reminded us who we were together when we paid attention.
Two Weeks Later (Felicity)
The package arrived on Saturday morning while Caden was at the farmer’s market with the kids. I recognized the return address—the photography shop in Bar Harbor where we’d stopped on our last day.
Inside was a leather-bound photo album with “Seven Years” embossed on the cover in simple gold lettering. I opened it carefully, and my breath caught.
Every moment was there. The two of us laughing at that ridiculous scarecrow in Vermont.
Caden looking terrified as he tried to steer the sailboat.
Me wearing his lopsided sweater while feeding chickadees in New Hampshire.
I love this ugly ass sweater, I thought, as I looked down at myself wearing it.
But it wasn’t just the scenic shots. He’d somehow included the quiet moments too—me reading on the inn’s porch, him studying a map with serious concentration, a selfie we’d taken after we’d collapsed in laughter over something I couldn’t even remember now.
On the last page was a photo I didn’t remember him taking.
It was of our hands clasped together, with what looked like the trail in the background.
He must have snapped it quietly during one of our hikes.
I looked at the edges of our sleeves and realized it was probably from the day where he’d brought a picnic lunch for us. Damn he was slick.
Underneath, in Caden’s handwriting: “Seven years down. Forever to go. All my love ~ Caden.”
I closed the album and held it against my chest, listening to the sounds of my family coming home—I could hear laughter from everyone and each of their voices through the door—though I couldn’t hear what anyone was actually saying.
What a year it had been. What a blessing today was. What an amazing gift this life will bring. I heard Macy calling, “Felicity! We got the most amazing apples!”
“Coming!” I called back, setting the album on the front hall console table, I turned and almost knocked the album over.
I watched the cardboard from its carrier package hit the ground though.
As I was picking up the box and packing material I saw the corner of something bright peeking out from behind the wide leg of the table.
Carefully grabbing the corner, I felt my heart soar as I pulled the postcard out that I had mailed from Miami.
The front had a stunning sunset off the coast of Miami Beach—with palm trees and sand, painted by gold pink sky. When I flipped it over, I found the message I’d written for myself that couldn’t have been more right:
Life can be repainted.
Yesterday’s sunset became today’s sunrise and
Tomorrow is a blank canvas.