EPILOGUE
Abigail
Time moves in the most unbelievable way.
As I lift Harvey from his crib after his nap, a smile spreads across my face.
Today is his first birthday party, and the guests will be arriving any minute.
Silvia, of course, arrives early. Nothing ever keeps her away.
She swoops him out of my arms without hesitation.
Around Harvey, she becomes someone else entirely.
That woman adores babies. Maybe that’s why she had four.
“I’m not sure,” she says, studying his outfit. “I think the white shirt would look nicer.”
As always, she is impeccably dressed, though a bit over the top.
Personally, I don’t think a one-year-old needs a button-up shirt, especially one as chubby as Harvey.
We had to size up just to get it over his arms, so now the sleeves are far too long and rolled into awkward cuffs.
But Silvia insisted he be dressed properly.
Apparently, that’s the secret to raising successful sons.
Harvey is the spitting image of his father, baby fat aside, especially those eyes. Sometimes I wonder if he inherited anything from me. Silvia once mentioned that every child in Will’s family line has been male. We had a son, of course, but I’m sure that’s just a coincidence.
The doorbell rings. I glance around, but there’s no sign of Will, so I leave Silvia with Harvey and head to the door.
Max stands on the porch, wrestling with an enormous gift wrapped in shiny blue paper. He struggles his way inside and drops it onto the growing mountain of presents. It’s far more than necessary. Will got carried away. How much can a one-year-old really appreciate anyway?
“DJ booth,” Max announces proudly. “Gotta start him young. Kid’s gonna be just like his Uncle Max.” He looks around and adds, “You start running out of space, you know where to find me. I’ve got a nice place on Flintier Avenue.”
“We’re not buying another house,” Will says as he strolls in from the kitchen.
Max had shown him the place when we first got together, and the sale apparently kept him in his boss’s good graces.
I was a little surprised Will bought it without asking me, but it turned out to be perfect.
It’s close to the city, peaceful, warm. He made a great choice, and we’re happy here.
“And he can practice his DJing at your place,” Will adds.
Dean appears in the doorway wearing a sharp charcoal suit. He pulls an envelope from his inner jacket pocket and hands it to me.
“Ten percent share in Aura,” he says. One of his nightclubs.
I smirk. “One year old and already an aspiring DJ and nightclub owner.”
Then there’s Henry, leaning casually against the doorframe, immaculate in a gray suit. Do these men ever dress down?
“He’s going to work with me,” he declares. “Be my protege. Maybe even CEO of Carter one day.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What about your future children?”
Henry blinks, as though the thought never occurred to him. He’s been acting odd lately, but then again, he’s always been a little off. I never quite know where I stand with him.
Without a word, he reaches behind his back and pulls out an envelope stuffed with crisp bills. Hundreds. Very Henry. What’s a baby going to do with cash? Still, I thank him.
“He’s going to be a lawyer,” Will interjects. “Like his mom.” They drift toward the living room. Just as I’m about to close the door, Judy bounds up the steps.
“Look at this,” she exclaims and thrusts her phone in my face.
I step back to focus. Twelve thousand followers.
“Oh my god,” I say, grinning. The foundation has exploded lately.
First a Morning Show feature, then a wave of online articles, and even Lindy Pilshaw shared a Pops post. Judy credits it all to Will’s ten-thousand-dollar donation that got me to go to that mixer years ago, but I think it’s her relentless drive.
As we head to the kitchen, the guys and Silvia crowd around Harvey in the living room.
“A year old. So, back to work soon?” Judy asks.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. Truthfully, work is the last thing on my mind. “Will thinks I should start my own practice.” Reed & Associates has a nice ring to it, though I keep forgetting I’m not Reed anymore. I’m a Carter now. And there’s already a Carter & Ross.
I don’t know what I’ll do next, career-wise, but I’m not in a rush. Right now, I just want to be here with my family.
My eyes linger on the wedding photos spread across the kitchen island.
We got married that summer after all—I was already pregnant.
I’d pictured a longer engagement, but life moved faster than we planned.
Will cried through the entire ceremony. The photographer had to edit out his red, tear-streaked eyes.
Still, I’ve never seen him smile so much.
He’s been just as loving and attentive ever since. Maybe even more so. He tells me every day how happy he is. It’s almost embarrassing how much I enjoy being loved this deeply
Judy helps herself to the sandwiches I set out, and I take the opportunity to check my messages. Nothing. I wonder if my mom will remember Harvey’s birthday. She still hasn’t forgiven me for leaving her out of the wedding or for telling her about the pregnancy only after Harvey was born.
I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her. I think deep down, I knew she’d rush here and pretend to care. I know she doesn’t. Not really. It would have been about getting in the Carter family’s good graces.
Last I heard, Mom and Celia were moving to Japan, trying to market Celia as “exotic.” I don’t know what happened with her engagement. And honestly, I don’t care.
Toward the end of the party, I tidy up in the kitchen, savoring a rare moment of peace.
“Abigail.”
Henry walks in and leans against the fridge with his arms folded.
He looks like he’s about to ask something, but he hesitates. He’s been strange lately. For a man with an ego the size of a skyscraper, something has clearly shaken him.
“Look who woke up,” Will says, entering the room with Harvey cradled in his arms. He wipes spit-up from his chin with his thumb.
Henry slips out without another word.
“He giving you trouble?” Will asks softly.
I shake my head.
“You alright?”
“I’m perfect.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “You certainly are.” His fingers brush mine as he takes the dishcloth from my hand. “Let me finish this. No one needs to know he’s awake yet.”
I head to Harvey’s room and settle into the rocking chair. His head rests against my chest, his soft breaths rising and falling in time with mine.
After a lifetime of fending for myself, I now have the opposite. I have a husband who would move mountains for me. One who insists on doing everything he can. Nothing is ever too much.
Come to think of it, has he ever even said no to me?
I sift through my memories, looking for a single refusal.
Nothing comes to mind.
Will
Peace, finally. The house is quiet again, every plate washed, every cushion fluffed. Upstairs, Abigail soaks in the bath while I rock Harvey, his body growing heavier with sleep against my chest.
“Harv?” I whisper. No, that’s not it. I’ve tried a dozen nicknames, but nothing sticks. Nothing feels quite right for a kid who thinks his own toes are the most fascinating thing in the world. And “Harvey” just sounds too formal.
I look down at him, taking in the little crease between his brows, the slow rise and fall of his breath, the way one chubby hand curls around my shirt. I’ve never loved anything the way I love this kid.
Except his mother.
I wonder where life will take him. A DJ? A nightclub owner? CEO of Carter? Or something entirely his own. He could become anything, and just the thought fills my chest with pride.
Whatever he chooses, I’ll be there. Not to steer, but to steady him. To back him. To remind him who he is.
Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I settle him into his crib and switch on the monitor.
Abigail’s eyes are closed when I slide into the bath with her. Max bragged that six people could fit in here, as if I’d ever need space for more than two. I settle across from her, lifting her pruned feet and kneading the tension from them.
“Can we get a bigger house?” she asks.
“If you want.” It’s the first time she’s mentioned it. I thought she was happy here.
“I was thinking maybe a new car too. A Ferrari.”
“Not sure a baby seat fits in one of those.”
“So that’s a no?” She cracks one eye open. This isn’t like her. Abigail’s always been practical.
“No. Send me the one you want. I’ll sort it.”
“Can we go to Barbados for a couple of months?”
“Months? What for?”
“A holiday.”
I frown. I didn’t realize she was this stressed. Juggling work will be tough, but I’ll make it happen.
“Sure. Why Barbados?”
“I don’t actually want to go,” she admits. “You never say no to me.”
“Course I do.”
“Can I have a million dollars?”
I grin. She’s got me there. Truth is, she could ask for anything, and I’d give it to her.
“Ask me if you can work a minimum-wage job at a fast-food joint.”
“Can I work a minimum-wage job at a fast-food joint?”
“No,” I say. “There you go.”
“What if it was my dream?”
I smile. I’d move heaven and earth for her. How she’s only just now realizing, I don’t know. I shift closer, pull her into my lap, and run my hands over her.
“Not in the bath,” she says. But even as she protests, she kisses me.
“Then you’d better get to the bed,” I whisper against her lips.
She climbs out, water trailing down her skin, and I follow.
“Fair warning,” I say. “You’ll need another bath when I’m done with you.”
Later that night, I watch her sleep, her breathing slow and steady, her body limp with exhaustion. Maybe I pushed her too hard. At one point, she pressed a firm hand to my chest and said “enough,” in that no-nonsense voice of hers.
I smile to myself. She’ll sleep well tonight.
I resist the urge to reach out and brush the damp hair from her cheek. Her skin still carries the heat of everything we shared. There’s something about seeing her like this: wrecked and resting, completely undone and completely mine. It stirs something deeper than want. It’s awe.
I knew she was the one the moment I saw her on that tape—the way she smiled at that little girl.
Gentle, patient, full of something I couldn’t name at the time.
Kindness, yes, but more than that. Heart.
I see it now in the way she is with our son—in every quiet, steady moment she shows up for him.
Some days, I still can’t believe she’s mine.
I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’ll never take it for granted.
When we met, I told her I never lose. I always get what I want. Turns out, she was the only thing worth winning.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. I slip out of bed and answer quietly.
Henry.
“Yeah?” I say as I answer.
“I was hoping to talk to Abigail. I need advice.”
“You know I’m also a lawyer.”
“It’s more of a personal matter.”
“She’s asleep,” I say. “And you’re not talking to my wife unless I know what this is about.”
While it was his plan that helped me win her back, Henry’s never been consistently friendly with her. One minute he’s polite, the next he’s watching her like she’s hiding something. I’m fresh out of patience for his bullshit.
There’s a long sigh on the other end.
“There’s a woman I shouldn’t want. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to want anyone else.”
The End