Epilogue
Ben
Hospital rooms never look like the movies. Here, it’s all blinding white and stainless steel, little stick-on monitors blinking from every corner. But none of that registers.
All I see is her.
She’s impossibly small. My hand could easily cover her whole back, and the thought of it makes my chest ache. There’s a little splash of dark hair on her forehead, more than I expected. Her skin is soft, red, a little wrinkled.
She’s not crying. Just blinking up at me, eyes shining from the strip of sunlight slicing through the blinds. For a second, she yawns, mouth wide enough to fit a fingertip, balling her tiny fists up.
I count her fingers and toes. Each one is tiny and perfect. Ten each.
April’s watching me, half-propped on the hospital pillows, her own wrist banded with white plastic. She looks wiped out, lips pale, collarbones distinct against the gown. But her eyes are locked on us, looking absolutely proud.
The nurse does her thing, talking through aftercare instructions, a bag of samples already dangling off her arm. She glances between us and raises an eyebrow. “Did you settle on a name for this beautiful girl yet?”
I look at April, and for a second everything in my life fits into place. All the old pain, all the bullshit, all the hard nights that got me here.
To her.
To them.
“Lily,” I blurt. “Spelled like the flower.”
April goes still. Then tears start trailing down her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.
“Lily,” she echoes. “It’s perfect.”
The nurse beams, scribbles it on a chart, then backs out of the room to give us some space.
I sit on the edge of the bed, breathing in the scent of baby powder and new life. Lily’s so light, it barely seems possible. But she’s solid, real, fists waving in the air as if she wants to punch fate for putting her in a world like this.
April opens her arms. “Come here, baby girl.”
I set Lily gently in the crook of her elbow. April gazes down, wonder and exhaustion fighting for control. She sniffs, then laughs. It’s raw and beautiful.
“You did it,” I say. “You brought her here.”
April looks up at me, eyes shining. “We did it. All three of us.”
The second I see her holding our daughter, something breaks open in my chest. The old me…the guy who didn’t trust, who thought forever was made up bullshit…he’s gone. Replaced by something fierce and so damn grateful I can barely get a word out.
I bend down, press a kiss to April’s temple. “I’ve never felt more complete than I do right now.”
April buries her face in Lily’s hair, breathing her in.
I wrap my arms around both of them, careful not to jostle the baby. My nose finds April’s neck. She smells like sweat and hospital soap, but underneath there’s something sweet that’s all her.
One moment, I’m back at Club Purgatory, the white silk, the way her body trembled under my hands. She didn’t know me. I didn’t know her. We weren’t supposed to matter.
Now? Now she’s my whole damn world.
Lily whimpers, mouth rooting at April’s chest. April laughs, pure affection, and shifts the baby so she can nurse. Her eyes never leave mine. Every doubt I ever had gets washed away.
“We’re going to be okay,” she whispers.
I kiss her again. “Better than okay. Heaven didn’t hold a candle to this.”
And it’s true.
Because as fucked as our story started, it ends like this.
Me, April, and Lily. Our family.
No secrets.
No shame.
Just the three of us, exactly where we belong.
Thank you for reading April’s Secret!