Epilogue #3
He moved to the window and looked out at the ocean. Both moons were full tonight, painting silver paths across the water. Their boat rocked gently at the dock, ready for tomorrow’s fishing trip.
This was home. This quiet water world, this simple house, this life. A home he’d thought he’d lost forever when the Red Death took his first mate and daughter. He’d believed that happiness was gone, and that the best he could hope for was a purpose to fill the emptiness. But he’d been wrong.
Corinne had shown him that. She had stumbled into his life, into his arms, and changed everything.
She was fierce and soft all at once. Terrified but brave.
Willing to cross deserts and face aliens and make terrible choices for the ones she loved.
And somehow, impossibly, she’d chosen to love him—a damaged warrior with too much grief and too little hope.
She’d chosen him anyway, and she’d given him a family, a home, and a second chance at happiness he’d done nothing to deserve.
They had built a life together brick by brick, day by day. And now they had three children and a home and a future. Everything he’d thought was lost forever.
He moved through the kitchen, straightening chairs that didn’t need straightening, wiping a counter that was already clean.
It happened sometimes, a restless energy he couldn’t quite shake, the feeling that their happiness was too precious, as if he needed to guard it every moment or it would slip through his fingers.
He knew it was irrational. He knew Corinne was safe upstairs, probably reading while she waited for him, and he knew the children were healthy and whole and protected, but the fear lingered anyway. A shadow he couldn’t quite outrun.
The house creaked softly around him, settling into night. Outside, the ocean whispered against the shore.
He thought about his first mate, Kessa. Thinking about her had hurt for such a long time, but the pain had eventually subsided to a dull ache.
And sometimes, in quiet moments like this, he thought he could feel her approval.
Like she was somewhere watching, glad he’d found happiness again. The thought brought him peace.
He moved back through the living area, climbed the stairs quietly.
The house remained silent, everyone asleep except his mate.
She was propped up in their bed, intent on her datapad.
She’d changed into one of his old shirts, and as always, the sight of her in his clothing caused a flare of possessive pride—which of course was why she wore them.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and when she looked up and smiled at him, he was struck once again by her beauty.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. Just checking on everyone.”
“And?”
“All asleep. Except Anya, naturally. Although she assured me she was almost done.”
“Good.” She set aside the datapad, patted the bed beside her. “Come here.”
He crossed the room, settled onto the bed. His tail immediately found her, curling around her waist like it always did.
“You’re worrying again,” she said.
“I am not—”
“You are. You get this look.” She touched his face, traced the line of his jaw. “Everything’s fine. The children are safe. We’re safe.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her eyes searched his. “Because sometimes I think you’re waiting for it all to fall apart.”
He couldn’t deny it. The fear was always there, lurking at the edges of his thoughts.
“Old habits,” he said.
“We’re building new habits.” She shifted closer, rested her head against his shoulder. “Happier ones.”
He wrapped his arm around her, breathed in her scent—sweet and comforting and essential.
“I never thought I would have this again,” he admitted. “A family. A home. I thought that part of my life was over.”
“But it’s not.”
“No.” He pressed his face into her hair. “It’s not.”
She tilted her head back, looked at him with those eyes that saw too much. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And I think your first mate would be happy for you.”
The words hit him harder than he expected, even though he’d thought the same thing only moments ago. Hearing her say it made it feel true.
“You think so?”
“I know so. Because if I lost you—” Her voice caught, and she took a breath. “If something happened to me and you found happiness again afterward, I’d want that for you. I’d want you to live, to love, to be happy.”
“Corinne—”
“I’m just saying. Love doesn’t run out. It grows. And I think she’d be glad you found more of it.”
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t find words adequate to express what he felt, so he kissed her instead. Soft and reverent and full of everything he couldn’t say. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up to cup his face, her body warm against his. When they broke apart, she was smiling.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.” He rested his forehead against hers. “More than I can express.”
“You express it very well.” She laughed softly. “Every day. In a hundred small ways.”
He thought about the ways he tried to show her—fixing things around the house, bringing her tea in the morning, taking the children so she could rest, holding her in the quiet moments. They were small things, but they added up.
“You do the same,” he said. “You show me every day.”
“Good. Because I’m planning to keep doing it for a very long time.”
“How long?”
“Forever, probably.” She grinned. “You’re stuck with me.”
“I can accept that.”
“Such a hardship.”
“Terrible.” He pulled her closer. “I do not know how I will manage.”
She laughed again, and he realized that this was everything. Not the grand gestures or dramatic moments. Just this—lying in bed with his mate, their children sleeping peacefully nearby. Normal and perfect.
She yawned, covering her mouth. “Sorry. Sera was up twice last night.”
“Sleep,” he said. “I will take her if she wakes again.”
“You took her last time.”
“And I will take her this time. You need rest.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but another yawn caught her. “Fine. But wake me if she won’t settle.”
“I will.”
She settled against him, her breathing already slowing as sleep pulled at her.
Outside, the ocean continued its endless rhythm against the shore.
The moons tracked across the sky. The world turned.
Inside, he closed his eyes and let himself feel her softness against his side, the warmth of their home around them, and the peace of knowing everyone he loved was safe.
This was happiness. Not the absence of fear or grief or pain. Not perfection. But this—choosing joy despite the fear. Building something beautiful from the broken pieces. Holding tight to the ones you love and refusing to let go.
He had spent years believing he didn’t deserve this, but sometimes the universe gave you exactly what you needed, even when you thought you didn’t deserve it.
Tomorrow they’d wake to breakfast chaos and children’s laughter.
To fishing trips and lessons and the thousand small tasks that made up a life.
To the beautiful, messy, perfect reality of family.
And in a small bedroom on a quiet water world, a warrior who’d lost everything found that he had, impossibly, been given everything again. Not the same as before. Different, but just as precious and just as loved.
He let himself drift toward sleep, secure in the knowledge that when he woke, they would all still be here. His family. His home. His second chance.
His everything.