Epilogue
CARRIE
Cole proposed one year later, and when we told Evie, her first request was that we have a full sundae bar at the reception, complete with a chocolate fountain and seventeen flavors of ice cream.
Six months earlier, when—with the help of a family therapist—we gently told her that we’d started dating, Evie had rolled her eyes and said, “I know that, Mom.” From then on, she’d dropped not-so-subtle hints about what she wanted to wear to our wedding.
Apparently, our daughter wanted us to move faster than we did.
I kept working for Wentworth. He was a good boss, and with Cole now contributing to the cost of raising Evie, some of the financial pressure was relieved. We planned to move in together after the wedding, which meant that Evie would change school districts and would have to say goodbye to Zara and the rest of her friends. I was able to help Hailey and Seth during the difficult newborn times with their son, and I planned to move out when they started to yearn for more space.
Transitions were hard, but I’d learned a lot about how to handle them. I was no longer frozen stiff by the thought of change; fear didn’t stop me from doing what was right anymore. Evie, Cole, and I had countless conversations every step of the way. There were no more secrets. No more skeletons waiting to jump out of closets. No more uncertainties. Some of those conversations were hard, but they always felt good in the end.
It meant that Evie always knew what was coming, whether it was a new school, a new home, or a change in our relationship. It meant Cole always knew where I stood, even when I felt afraid of what was coming next.
That was the other thing—the fear never went away. I was terrified of tying the knot, because it meant giving up some of the hard-won independence I valued so much. I was terrified of moving in together, in case it torpedoed our relationship. I was afraid that moving Evie to a new school would scar her for life.
But I didn’t shy away from those changes anymore. I squared my shoulders, slipped my hand into Cole’s, and embraced every new challenge that life threw at me.
The reward was a kind of happiness I thought only existed in fairy tales. It was the euphoria of wearing my mother’s earrings while I walked down the aisle toward the man I thought I’d lost—and seeing him wipe a tear from the corner of his eye at the sight of me, our daughter standing beside him with a cheesy smile on her face. My uncle handed me off, and my Aunt Jackie and favorite cousins dabbed their eyes in the audience.
Happiness was also a quiet sort of contentment, found in the mundane moments that make up a good life—like that satisfied hum Cole made when he took the first bite of a dinner I’d made. Or the look on Evie’s face when Cole walked through the door after a long day at work. Or the sound of his quiet voice reading a fourth and fifth bedtime story, and then the sight of him asleep next to her with a book propped on his chest.
Happiness was watching Chuck transform from a business shark to a cuddly, jolly grandfather whenever Evie was in the room.
Happiness was two blue lines appearing on a pregnancy test four months after becoming Mrs. Christianson.
When I showed the test to Cole, he kissed me like I’d just given him the best gift of his life. I smiled through my happy tears and told him I loved him for the millionth time. I’d say it a million more times, and it still wouldn’t even touch the sides of the love I felt for him.
The intensity of my feelings would’ve scared me—but Cole loved me right back, just as big, just as strong.
The way we were meant to be.