Epilogue #2
“Thank you.” She looked at Mikoz, who was staring at the baby with wide-eyed confusion. “Mikoz, come meet your sister.”
Wendy set him down, and he cautiously toddled over to the bed. Selik lifted him up to join them, careful not to jostle her.
Mikoz peered at the baby, his expression serious. Then he reached out, touched her tiny hand with one finger. The baby’s fingers curled around his, and Mikoz’s face lit up.
“Baby,” he said.
“Yes. She’s your sister. Her name is…” She looked at Selik. They’d discussed names, narrowed it down to a few favorites, but hadn’t made a final decision.
“Sera,” Selik said quietly. “If you agree.”
Sera. It was a Cire name, meaning hope.
“It’s perfect,” she said, her eyes bright with tears.
The midwife finished her work, declared both Corinne and the baby healthy, and left them alone with promises to return for follow-up checks.
Wendy took Mikoz, promising to watch him until Anya could collect him, and slipped out quietly.
And then it was just the three of them. He settled onto the bed beside her, his arm around her shoulders, his tail coiled protectively around both of them. Sera was nestled between them, already falling asleep, her tiny body radiating warmth.
“I was terrified,” he admitted. “When I got the message, when I realized you were in labor—all I could think about was everything that could go wrong.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No.” He touched Sera’s cheek reverently. “She is perfect. You are both perfect.”
She felt exhaustion pulling at her, her body demanding rest after the intensity of labor, but she didn’t want to close her eyes, didn’t want to miss a moment of this.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.” He kissed her, soft and gentle. “Both of you. All of you.”
He meant their whole family—Anya, Mikoz, Sera. The family they’d built from loss and fear and desperate hope.
“We did it,” she whispered, her eyes drifting closed. “We really did it.”
“We did.” His voice was warm with emotion. “Sleep now. I’ll watch over you both.”
She wanted to protest, wanted to stay awake and memorize every detail of this moment, but her body had other ideas, and she felt herself sinking into sleep, safe in the knowledge that Selik was there, that Sera was healthy and whole, that their family was complete.
When she woke, the room was dim, the light outside suggesting late evening. Selik was still beside her, Sera cradled in his arms, his expression soft as he watched their daughter sleep.
“How long was I out?” she asked, her voice rough.
“Only a few hours.” He smiled at her. “How do you feel?”
“Sore. Tired. Happy.” She reached for Sera, and he carefully transferred the baby to her. “Has she eaten?”
“The midwife helped with the feeding while you slept.” He settled his hand on her leg, warm and reassuring. “She’s been perfect. Just sleeping and eating.”
She looked down at her daughter, and felt an overwhelming rush of love and protectiveness. This tiny person, part of her and part of Selik, proof that their impossible bond was real.
“Where’s Anya?”
“On her way. She was out on the boat with Jarrek when I contacted her. She should be here soon.”
As if summoned, the door opened and Anya slipped in, her expression anxious.
“Is everything okay?” She stopped, saw the baby, and her face transformed. “Oh.”
“Come meet your sister,” she said.
Anya approached slowly, her usual teenage bravado gone. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Sera with something like awe.
“She’s so small.”
“She’ll grow.” She shifted over to make more room for Anya. “Do you want to hold her?”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You won’t,” she said firmly, and carefully placed Sera in Anya’s arms. The girl went very still, her face wondering.
“She’s heavier than she looks,” Anya said.
“Almost three kilos,” Selik said. “A good size.”
Sera stirred, opened her eyes briefly, then settled back to sleep. Anya’s face softened.
“Hi, Sera. I’m your big sister.” She glanced at Corinne. “Mikoz’s her brother, but I’m her sister, aren’t I?”
“Of course you are.” Her voice came out shaky but certain. “You’re all her siblings.”
Anya nodded, satisfied, and went back to staring at the baby. They sat like that for a long time, the four of them together, until Sera started fussing and she had to feed her again. Anya reluctantly handed her back, but didn’t leave. She just moved to the chair beside the bed and watched.
“Wendy said you can come home tomorrow,” she said. “If everything’s okay.”
“Good, because I think everything’s very okay.”
The door opened again, and Mikoz charged in, Wendy following apologetically.
“Sorry, he insisted—”
“It’s fine.” She laughed as Mikoz climbed onto the bed, demanding to see his baby again.
Wendy joined them, and suddenly the small room was full—full of people, full of noise, full of love. This was family. This messy, chaotic, perfect thing they’d built together.
She looked at Selik, found him watching her with an expression that made her chest ache. Pride. Love. Gratitude.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, the words meant only for her.
“For what?”
“For this. For them. For choosing to stay.”
She shifted Sera to one arm and reached for his hand with the other. “I’d choose you every time.”
His tail coiled around her waist, and he leaned in to kiss her, soft and reverent.
Anya made a noise of disgust. “Gross. There are children present.”
“You’re hardly a child anymore,” Selik said, but he was smiling.
“I’m fourteen. That’s still a child.”
“You’re basically ancient,” Wendy teased. “Practically decrepit.”
Anya threw a wadded-up tissue at her, and Lissanne giggled, and Mikoz demanded another turn holding the baby. The chaos continued, warm and loud and utterly normal, until the midwife returned and shooed everyone out except Selik.
“She needs rest,” the midwife said firmly. “And so does the baby. You can all visit tomorrow.”
There were protests and promises and Anya making her swear to contact her if anything happened, and then they were gone.
The room felt almost too quiet in their absence, but Selik helped her settle into the bed, arranging the pillows and making sure she and Sera were comfortable.
Then he dimmed the lights and returned to her side.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “I will watch over you both.”
“You need sleep too.”
“I will sleep when you are home safe.”
She wanted to argue, but exhaustion was already pulling at her. She felt him settle beside her, felt his tail wrap around them both, and let herself drift.
Tomorrow they’d go home and introduce Sera to their house, their life, their world. But for now, this moment was enough. This perfect, quiet moment where everything was safe and whole and exactly as it should be.
She closed her eyes and let sleep take her, secure in the knowledge that when she woke, Selik would still be there.
He always was.
Three months later…
The house was quiet.
Selik stood in the doorway of Sera’s room, watching his daughter sleep. She’d thrown off her blanket again, one arm flung above her head, the other clutching the stuffed sea creature Anya had made for her. Her breathing was slow and even, peaceful.
Three months old, and already she ruled the household with an iron fist wrapped in soft green skin. Their perfect daughter.
He crossed the room silently and carefully replaced the blanket. She stirred but didn’t wake, just made a small sound of contentment and settled deeper into sleep. He backed out of the room, pulled the door almost closed, and moved down the hall to Mikoz’s room.
The boy was sprawled across his bed, half on top of his pillows, completely tangled in his sheets.
Growing fast—already he’d outgrown two sets of clothes since they’d arrived on this water world.
His features were sharpening, becoming more distinctly Cire, though his personality remained uniquely his own.
Curious, stubborn, affectionate. His son in every way that mattered.
He adjusted the sheets, picked up the toy boat that had fallen to the floor, and set it on the shelf beside a collection of shells and smooth stones.
This room told a story—of beach walks and fishing trips, of building projects and bedtime stories.
Of a happy childhood. Not for the first time he prayed that Mikoz’s birth mother knew how much he was loved.
He left the door open a crack and continued down the hall.
Anya’s room was at the end, her light still on despite the late hour. He knocked softly.
“Come in.”
She was at her desk, hunched over a datapad, her hair pulled back in a messy tail.
“It is late,” he said.
“I know. I’m almost done.” She didn’t look up, still focused on whatever she was reading. “Is Sera asleep?”
“Finally. She fought it.”
“She gets that from Corinne.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “The stubborn thing.”
“And Mikoz gets it from where?”
“Also Corinne.” Her smile widened. “You’re too calm to be stubborn. You just do what you want without making a fuss about it.”
He couldn’t argue with that assessment.
“Do not stay up too late,” he said.
“I won’t. Just need to finish this calculation.” She turned back to her work, then paused. “Hey, Selik?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For keeping us safe. For everything.”
The words caught him off guard. Anya rarely spoke about the past or about what could have happened if he hadn’t found them that night.
“You do not need to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.” She met his gaze, her face serious. “You didn’t have to take us in. You didn’t have to care. But you did, and… I’m glad. That’s all.”
His chest tightened with emotion. “I am glad too.”
She nodded, embarrassed now, and quickly turned back to her datapad. He left her to her work and headed downstairs.
The main living area was tidy—or as tidy as a house with three children could be. Toys stacked in baskets, Mikoz’s latest art project stuck to the cooling unit with magnets, a pile of Anya’s datapads on the table beside a stack of Corinne’s books. Evidence of family life.