Epilogue
GAbrIEL | SALTWATER SPRINGS
With the windows opened wide, our house smells like the lavender that lines the property.
It still surprises me that we moved into my mother’s childhood home, the one that’s been sitting empty in the middle of town for years, now with baby bottles drying on the counter, blankets thrown over the arms and back of the couch, and a new swing set half-built in the backyard.
My mom had left it to my father when she passed away, and then it was passed onto me when he passed too. Since I’d been living in the Shredder House, I never had a need for this place, but I’m glad I held onto it now.
Through the wide archway of the kitchen, I can see Zalea on the couch, our son tucked against her chest while her mother cradles our daughter.
They’ve been deep in conversation about sleep schedules, feeding routines, and stories of when Zalea and Zale were babies.
And despite her messy hair and milk stained clothes, she’s glowing, and I don’t think she’s ever looked any prettier than this.
She looks up and catches me staring, shooting me a small smile before refocusing on whatever her mom is saying as our puppy—Sprinkles Jr.—chews on the tip of her slipper.
God. I’d burn the world down before I ever lose that woman again.
I finally work up the courage to turn and face her father who’s been staring at me for the better part of ten minutes, arms crossed, and jaw tight. If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding out on the hardwood right about now.
I clear my throat. “Hey, would you mind giving me a hand with something in the nursery?”
He narrows his eyes slightly. “Sure,” he says, following me.
Upstairs, I close the nursery door behind us and turn to face him as he stands in the middle of the pale green room, two cribs on either side of him and a rocking chair near the window. He doesn’t sit and I know I’m either about to become enemy number one or we’re going to fix things.
“If you hurt her again,” he says calmly. “I will run you over with my car.”
I’m stunned, but as a father I can understand where he’s coming from.
“Understood,” I say with a nod. “But I don’t plan on hurting her. Ever. I was an idiot once, and it won’t happen again.”
“If you leave,” he continues. “If you disappear on my daughter and those babies, I won’t just run you over. I’ll reverse and do it twice.”
I almost smile. “Understood, sir.”
He studies me, and I know he’s trying to figure out if I’m just saying what he wants to hear or if I really mean it.
“I didn’t have a great example growing up,” I say before I can overthink it. “My father wasn’t…present. Not in the ways it mattered.”
His expression shifts slightly, and he almost looks like he feels bad for threatening me.
“I don’t want to screw this up,” I admit. “So if you’ve got advice, I’ll take it. You did something right raising your kids. They’re both kind, especially Zalea. She doesn’t give up on people.”
He exhales slowly, holding my gaze.
“You show up,” he says. “Every day. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
I nod. “I can do that.”
He steps forward, and grips my shoulder firmly. “Then we won’t have a problem.”
When we walk back downstairs, Zalea and her mother study us suspiciously.
“What did you two talk about?”
“Power tools,” her dad says.
“Vehicular safety,” I add, and she narrows her eyes.
Her mother laughs, still rocking Marina.
Later in the day, her parents finally head home, and the house feels quieter. I find Zalea on the wraparound porch with the baby monitor as the twins nap in their room. She’s barefoot, staring out at the garden, eyes closed against the warm coastal breeze.
My wife, I think to myself as I watch her.
I still haven’t gotten used to that word. We were planning to have a beautiful wedding once we were back in Saltwater Springs, but when we got to Hawaii, we decided we were done waiting for perfect timing.
Zale stood beside her as her Man of Honour, as promised, and I asked an old friend from Hawaii that I met on tour to sign as a witness to the wedding.
There was no big wedding, no aisle, and no fancy clothing.
It was just us, and it was perfect.
I step behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Do you want to take them to see Gabby when they wake up?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
We’ve started doing this almost daily, or every other day at least because the cemetery is only a short walk from here.
Close enough that it feels like it should be a part of our routine.
For years, the only visitors Gabriella had were Zalea’s parents and her brother. They kept showing up when Zalea couldn’t. When it was too unbearable. And even though she’s gone, she still deserves to feel like she belongs to this family—because she does.
So we go, whenever we can. And not out of obligation or guilt, but because love doesn’t stop just because someone isn’t physically with you anymore. I never met Gabriella. I’ll never know the sound of her laugh, or whether she would’ve preferred stories over lullabies.
But I do know that she mattered, and she still does.
I feel her all around us, in the way Zalea sometimes stares at Marina a second too long, grief shining through beneath the joy, and in the way she lingers a second longer over Caspian’s crib at night, like she’s scared she’ll lose him too.
There was a time when I would’ve run from something this heavy. From the terrifying depth of loving someone this much, when I myself didn’t understand what real love was.
But standing in the house my mother left me, with my wife in my arms and our children asleep upstairs—I don’t feel trapped.
They feel like my anchor.
Zalea leans back into me, her fingers lacing with mine.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“For what?”
“For following me to Italy.”
I press another kiss into her hair. “I told you before,” I say softly. “Wherever you go, I go.”
I would follow her anywhere, and I finally know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.