Epilogue
Joy
One Year Later
The cursor blinks on my laptop screen as I finish uploading the latest photos to Cedar Lodge's Instagram account.
The engagement has been incredible since I took over the social media—bookings are up thirty percent, and we have a waitlist for Christmas week that extends into next year.
Not bad for someone who was pitted against a coworker on her last project.
While I wasn't in love with that project, I am this one.
Turns out, marketing a place you actually love is a whole different experience than selling products you don't care about.
I post a photo of the lodge decorated with fresh snow, add a caption about upcoming Valentine's packages, and close my laptop.
My hand instinctively goes to my stomach, which is just starting to show the smallest hint of a bump.
Sixteen weeks along, and I'm finally feeling more excited than terrified.
Movement at the front desk catches my eye, and I glance down at my left hand, where my wedding and engagement rings catch the light from the Christmas tree in the lobby.
Still not used to seeing them there, even though Winter and I got married six months ago in a small ceremony right here at the lodge, with Alana as our flower girl and our friends in attendance. My parents even came.
That was complicated. They're still not thrilled about my life choices, as my mother puts it, but they're trying. And seeing them with Alana, watching my dad's face soften when she called him Grandpa for the first time, gave me hope that eventually they'll understand.
The front door bursts open, bringing in a gust of cold air and my husband.
My heart still skips a beat when I see him, maybe even more now than it did a year ago.
He's wearing his heavy work coat and boots, his face flushed from the cold, his beard more full than usual, his hair a little longer than he normally keeps it.
He looks rugged and so incredibly handsome that I have to remind myself we're in the lobby where guests can see us.
"Hey, beautiful," he says, his voice warm as he crosses to the desk. He leans over and kisses me, his lips cold but his touch making me warm all over. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," I tell him honestly. The morning sickness has finally eased up, thank God. "The baby's good. But I'm ready to decorate the tree with you and Alana. We've been waiting all day."
"I know, I'm sorry. The heating system in cabin three was acting up again." He pulls off his gloves, rubbing his hands together. "But it's fixed now, and I'm all yours for the evening."
"Promise?" I ask, even though I know he always keeps his promises.
"Promise." He reaches over the desk to rest his hand on my small bump, his eyes soft. "How's my kid doing in there?"
"Your kid is doing great, apparently practicing to be a soccer player based on all the movement." It's still early for that, but I swear I felt something yesterday. "But your kid's mom is tired and wants to sit down while decorating instead of standing the whole time."
"Then that's exactly what we'll do." He comes around the desk and helps me to my feet, even though I'm perfectly capable of standing on my own. But I let him, because I love the way he takes care of me. The way he's taken care of me every single day since I chose to stay.
"Dad!" Alana's voice echoes through the lobby before I see her.
She comes running out of the dining room, her arms full of a plate of cookies.
At six years old now, she's grown so much in the past year, but she's still the same sweet girl who made me want to stay.
"I got the cookies! Carol let me help make them, and I only ate two. "
"Only two?" Winter raises an eyebrow. "That's showing a lot of restraint, princess."
"I know!" She beams at him, then turns to me. "Mom, can we start now? Please?"
Mom.
She started calling me that about six months ago, after months of asking if it was okay yet. The legal adoption is in progress—should be finalized in the next few months—but in every way that matters, she's already my daughter. My heart still swells every time she calls me Mom.
"Yes, we can start now," I tell her, taking one of the cookies from her plate. "Your dad's finally done with work."
"Finally," Alana sighs dramatically, making both Winter and me laugh. "I thought he was going to work forever."
"Never," Winter says, scooping her up in his arms even though she's getting big for that. She giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I would never miss decorating the tree with my two favorite girls."
"Three," I correct, putting my hand on my stomach. "Three girls, remember?"
"Three girls," he agrees, his eyes meeting mine over Alana's head. The look he gives me is full of so much love and happiness and contentment that I have to blink back tears. Damn pregnancy hormones.
We head toward the Christmas tree in the corner of the lobby, the same one we decorated last year when I was just a stranded guest, not knowing that in a few days my entire life would change. The boxes of ornaments are already waiting, and Fiona has put on Christmas music in the background.
I settle onto the couch, my hand still on my stomach, and watch as Winter and Alana start pulling out ornaments.
"Mom, look!" Alana holds up a small crown ornament, the same shape as the paper crown I made her last Christmas. "We should put this one on first!"
"That's perfect, sweetheart," I tell her, my throat tight with emotion.
As I watch my husband and daughter decorate the tree together, laughing and teasing and just being a family, I think about how different my life is from what I imagined a year ago. How I thought I had everything figured out, thought I knew what success and happiness looked like.
I was so wrong.
Success isn't a corner office or a impressive title or my boss's approval. It's not working sixty hours a week or having a perfect apartment.
Success is this. It's watching the man I love teach our daughter how to hang an ornament just right.
It's feeling the baby growing inside me, knowing that in a few months our family will be even bigger.
It's having a job I'm passionate about, working from home in a place I actually want to be.
It's being part of a community that knows my name and welcomes me.
It's waking up every morning next to the person who knows all of me and loves me anyway.
Happiness isn't what I thought it was, either. It's not an achievement or recognition or proving something to the world.
Happiness is simple. It's morning pancakes and afternoon snowball fights.
It's bedtime stories and goodnight kisses.
It's decorating a Christmas tree with my family while Christmas music plays and cookies wait to be eaten.
It's the weight of my wedding ring on my finger and the flutter of movement in my belly.
It's knowing that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, with exactly who I'm supposed to be with.
"Mom, are you crying?" Alana asks, abandoning the tree to come sit next to me. "Are you okay?"
"I'm perfect, baby," I tell her, pulling her close. "I'm just really happy."
"Happy tears?" she asks, and I nod. "Good. Those are the best kind."
Winter comes over and sits on my other side, his arm around my shoulders. The three of us sit there for a moment, just being together, and I feel more grateful than I ever have in my life.
"I love you both so much," I whisper.
"We love you too," Alana says immediately. "Right, Dad?"
"More than anything," Winter agrees, kissing my temple. "You're our everything, Joy.".
Eventually we finish decorating the tree, and Alana convinces us to play one of her board games while we eat cookies.
We laugh and just enjoy being together, and when it's finally Alana's bedtime, we both take her upstairs and tuck her in together.
We stay at the lodge, almost as much as we stay at home, so we keep a couple of rooms available.
"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" she asks, like she does every night.
"Of course," I tell her, settling into the chair beside her bed while Winter sits on the edge.
As we watch her eyes grow heavy and her breathing even out, Winter reaches over and takes my hand. We sit there in the darkness, listening to our daughter sleep, and I think about how close I came to missing all of this.
How I almost got in that car and drove away.
How I almost let fear and pride and other people's expectations keep me from the life I was meant to have.
When Alana is fully asleep, Winter and I quietly leave her room and head to our own. It's not fancy, just a simple bedroom in the private quarters of the lodge, but it's ours.
"What a day," Winter says, pulling me into his arms as soon as the door closes behind us.
"A good day," I clarify, wrapping my arms around his neck.
"The best day," he agrees. "Every day with you is the best day."
"Cheesy," I tease, but I'm smiling.
"You love it."
"I do," I admit. "I love you."
"I love you too." He kisses me softly, his hand coming to rest on my stomach again. "I love all three of you."
Later, as I lie in bed with my head on Winter's chest, listening to his heartbeat and thinking about the year we've had and the years still to come, I can't help but smile in the darkness.
Little did I know, everything I wanted was in the place I didn't think I could ever come back to.
The place I ran from became the place I ran back to.
And this time, I'm never leaving.
This is home.
This is family.
This is love.
This is everything.