EPILOGUE
RAY
I never thought peace would be like this.
Barefoot. Covered in sand.
Holding a baby guidebook on how to get the best sleep routines while Sebastian attempts to bury my legs beneath enough sand to qualify as attempted murder.
“You have to stay still,” he orders seriously.
“I own multiple businesses,” I mutter, glancing down at the pile growing over my knees. “And somehow, this is still the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Sebastian grins proudly. “You’re a sand mermaid now.”
“Excellent.”
Laughter drifts towards us from the shoreline. My eyes lift instantly.
And there she is.
Wynter walks slowly along the edge of the water barefoot, our daughter tucked against her chest in a pale-yellow baby sling while the sunset catches in her hair.
God.
Even now, ten weeks later, the sight still hits me straight in the chest.
The doctor finally signed Wynter off for travel three weeks ago, and I’d booked Dubai before we even left the appointment. Apparently “you need rest” translated in my brain to “private beach house immediately”.
Not that I regret it, because since we arrived, she hasn’t stopped smiling. I still can’t quite believe she’s real. Either of them.
Wynter glances towards us and smiles the second our eyes meet. And there it is again. That feeling. The one that still catches me off guard.
Home. She’s my home.
“Dad,” Sebastian yells. “You moved your leg!”
“I’m losing circulation.”
“That’s cheating.”
I huff out a laugh as Wynter finally reaches us, lowering herself carefully beside me on the sand.
Annie makes a tiny sleepy sound against her chest. Immediately, my attention shifts fully.
“You didn’t cover her legs?” I ask automatically.
Wynter stares at me. “Seriously?”
“It gets cooler near the water.”
“She’s wearing two layers in thirty-degree heat.” She smiles, shaking her head, and I’m pleased my fussy parenting doesn’t drive her insane.
I carefully adjust the tiny sun hat slipping sideways over our daughter’s face. Wynter watches me fondly.
“You know,” she murmurs, “your obsession with her is quite sweet.”
I laugh. “It’s an obsession with both of you, and I’m not ashamed.”
She laughs softly beside me, leaning her head against my shoulder while Sebastian continues aggressively attacking my dignity with sand.
Christ.
I’d never known happiness could feel this quiet. Like something warm settling permanently beneath my ribs, offering me comfort, protection and peace.
My phone buzzes beside me for the fifth time in ten minutes. I don’t even look at it, but Wynter does.
“That’ll be Dale,” I tell her dryly.
“It is Dale,” she confirms. “You should probably answer him.”
I sigh heavily and finally grab my phone to see five missed calls, twelve messages, and three voice notes.
Then one photo of what appears to be an ice sculpture shaped like my face.
I close my eyes briefly. “He’s organising my birthday party like it’s a royal wedding.”
Wynter snorts beside me. “He’s excited.”
“He’s mentally unstable.”
Sebastian gasps dramatically. “Can I have a huge birthday party?”
“You already had one.”
“No, but I want fireworks.”
“You’re eight.”
“Exactly.”
Wynter laughs harder against my shoulder while I open Dale’s latest message.
Dale: Lucy says she’s bringing homemade sausage rolls and threatening bodily harm if catering isn’t good enough.
Another follows immediately.
Dale: Also Alec keeps calling me son and it’s making me emotional.
A third message appears.
Dale: Why does her family keep hugging people???
I shake my head slowly.
“What?” Wynter asks.
“Your family’s traumatising Dale.”
“That sounds healthy for him.”
I glance back towards the beach house behind us. The patio doors stand open, with tiny baby clothes drying in the evening heat. There are toys scattered across the living room and a half-finished bottle on the coffee table.
Tiny socks and mittens are absolutely everywhere, along with breast pads and muslin cloths. It’s a complete mess, just like the apartment back in London.
And somehow . . .
I love every single second of it.
Because six months ago, my apartment was silent. Cold. Controlled.
Now, Sebastian barges into our bedroom every Saturday morning to watch television with us. Lucy criticises my parenting daily over video calls, Alec sends me barbecue recipes I’ll never use, and Wynter leaves fairy lights switched on in every room we enter.
And our daughter . . .
Christ.
Annie wraps her tiny fingers around mine like I’m her entire world. Just like her namesake did.
I never knew love could feel this terrifying, but damn is it amazing.
Wynter shifts beside me carefully before lifting the baby from the sling and settling her gently into my arms. I take her automatically, supporting her tiny head against my chest. She yawns sleepily. And just like every single time, something inside me completely falls apart.
“She’s got your grumpy face when she screws it up like that,” Wynter says.
“She absolutely does not.”
“She frowned at me during a nappy change earlier. She’s like your double.”
“She was judging your technique.”
Wynter gasps in mock outrage, and Seb dives into her lap, staring at the baby like we all do—in wonderment and with complete love.
She stirs slightly at the noise, her tiny hand curling instinctively around my finger. And suddenly, the world goes quiet around me.
The ocean. The laughter. The noise.
Everything fades beneath the weight of this moment.
Finally, I feel like I’m living. I’m not just existing, and I’m no longer in survival mode.
And somewhere between grief, chaos, late-night walks through London, and a woman who saw through every wall I ever built . . .
I found the two things I’d spent my entire life searching for.
A home.
A family.