Epilogue
MICAH
One Year Later
The front door swings open, and I’m greeted by the sound that has become the soundtrack of my happiness—Dean’s running footsteps and excited calls of “Daddy!” Still a miracle every time I hear it.
“Hey, buddy!” I scoop him up, marveling at how much he’s grown. At twenty months old, he’s all energy and curiosity, a whirlwind of activity that never seems to slow. “Were you good for Mommy today?”
“He decided to redecorate the living room with his crayons,” Aria says, appearing from the kitchen with a dish towel slung over her shoulder. Despite the complaint, her smile is warm as she watches us. “Thankfully, they’re washable.”
I set Dean down, and he races back to whatever project had occupied him before my arrival. When I turn to Aria, my breath catches the way it still does every time I look at her. My wife. The word still feels new and wonderful, six months after our backyard wedding.
“Hi,” I say, closing the distance between us.
“Hi yourself,” she replies, rising on tiptoe to kiss me. “How was the Chamber of Commerce meeting?”
“Productive. They want me to photograph the fall festival next month.” I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “But I missed you. Both of you.”
She laughs, the sound like music. “You were gone three hours.”
“An eternity,” I insist, kissing her again until Dean’s voice interrupts us.
“Daddy, look!”
We turn to find him proudly displaying a crayon drawing—a collection of colorful circles and lines that might be people, or possibly dinosaurs. With Dean’s art, it’s always open to interpretation.
“That’s amazing,” I tell him, examining the masterpiece with appropriate seriousness. “Is that our family?”
Dean nods enthusiastically. “You and Mommy and me and Grammy.”
“Grammy would love to see this,” Aria says. “We should save it to show her when she visits next week.”
The mention of my mother’s visit reminds me of the phone call I received earlier today—news I’ve been waiting to share with Aria. “Speaking of Mom, I have something to tell you both.”
Aria’s eyebrows rise. “Good something or bad something?”
“Definitely good,” I assure her. “Why don’t we sit down?”
In the living room, Dean climbs onto my lap while Aria settles beside us on the couch. The afternoon sun slants through the windows, catching the simple gold band on my finger—the physical symbol of a promise I made half a year ago, though in truth, my heart had been hers long before.
“Mom called this morning while I was at the studio,” I begin, excitement building as I share the news. “She was so worked up she could barely get the words out.”
“That sounds like Patricia,” Aria says with a fond smile. The relationship between my mother and wife has blossomed over the past year into something neither of them expected—a genuine friendship built on mutual respect and shared love for Dean and me.
“She’s decided to move back to Birch Springs,” I announce, watching Aria’s eyes widen. “Aunt Becky is getting married to her widower neighbor, and Mom says she’s ready to come home. She’s already found a small house three blocks from us.”
“That’s wonderful!” Aria exclaims. “When?”
“Next month. She wants to be settled before the holidays.” I glance down at Dean, who’s playing with my watch strap, oblivious to the significance of the moment. “She says, and I quote, ‘I’ve missed too much of Dean’s life already, and I refuse to be a long-distance grandmother any longer.’”
Aria laughs. “Well, her timing couldn’t be better.”
Something in her tone makes me look up sharply. There’s a special kind of light in her eyes—one I’ve come to recognize when she’s keeping a happy secret.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I ask.
She bites her lip, a gesture that still makes my heart flip even after a year together. “I was going to wait until dinner, but...” She takes a deep breath. “Grammy isn’t just coming back for Dean.”
My pulse quickens. “What do you mean?”
Aria reaches for my hand, guiding it to rest against her stomach. For a moment, I don’t understand—and then comprehension dawns, stealing my breath.
“Are you...?” I whisper, unable to finish the question.
She nods, eyes shining. “Eight weeks. I took the test yesterday. Actually, I took six tests just to be sure.”
Joy surges through me, so powerful I can barely speak. “We’re having a baby?”
“We’re having a baby,” she echoes, her voice catching.
Dean looks up at the change in our voices. “Baby?”
Aria laughs through sudden tears. “Yes, sweetheart. You’re going to be a big brother.”
I pull them both closer, overwhelmed by the perfection of this moment.
A year ago, I was living alone, going through the motions of a life that felt incomplete without quite knowing why.
Now my house is a home, filled with laughter and toys and crayon masterpieces on the refrigerator.
The adoption papers making me legally Dean’s father sit framed in our bedroom—a formality that simply confirmed what our hearts already knew.
And now our family will grow again.
“Are you happy?” Aria asks softly.
“Happy doesn’t begin to cover it,” I tell her, brushing away a tear that escapes down her cheek. “I never imagined I could have this. Any of this.”
“Me neither,” she admits. “I was so scared of letting you in. Of trusting this.”
I think back to that day at the park when Dean had crawled through the fence—the turning point that brought Aria back to me. How close we came to missing all of this because of fear.
“I’m glad you were brave,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“We were brave together,” she corrects me. “And now look at us.”
Dean squirms between us, demanding attention. “Play trucks now?”
I laugh, setting him on his feet. “Go get them, buddy. I’ll be right there.”
As he races to his toy box, I turn back to Aria. “I was thinking we should convert the office into a nursery. The light is perfect in there in the mornings.”
“Already planning, are you?” she teases.
“I can’t help it,” I admit. “I want everything to be perfect.”
She takes my face in her hands, her expression suddenly serious. “It already is perfect, Micah. Even the imperfect parts. That’s what makes it real.”
I kiss her then, pouring all my gratitude and love into the contact. For the woman who took a chance on me. For our son—because that’s what Dean is, biology notwithstanding. For the new life growing inside her, another miracle I never expected.
When we part, Dean is watching us, truck in hand, head tilted in that curious way he has. “Daddy happy?”
“Yes,” I tell him, my voice rough with emotion. “Daddy is very, very happy.”
And as I join my son on the carpet, trucks and blocks scattered around us, Aria curled on the couch watching us with that soft smile, I know it’s more than happiness. It’s belonging. It’s home.
It’s everything I never knew I needed until Aria and Dean crashed into my carefully ordered world and rearranged it into something infinitely better.
One pretend relationship that became the realest thing I’ve ever known.