EPILOGUE #3
“It was.” Dax’s arm came around her shoulders. “Think we should make it a tradition? Dinner with everyone once a month or so?”
“I’d like that.” Quinn leaned into his warmth. “Family dinners. Like normal people.”
“We are normal people. Just normal people who’ve been through some extraordinary things.”
Quinn thought about that. About Wheeler behind bars.
About her book—“Justice Delayed: The David Barrett Investigation”—sitting at number three on The New York Times Bestseller list for the twelfth consecutive week.
About the TV adaptation that three major streaming services were bidding on.
About the speaking engagements and interviews and the way her father’s story had resonated with thousands of readers.
About standing in this backyard with the man she loved, in the house they’d bought together, surrounded by people who cared about them.
Normal. Extraordinary. Maybe it was both.
“What’s next for us?” Quinn asked. “We’ve spent so long focused on the trial and the book and recovery. Now that’s all done...what do we do now?”
Dax was quiet for a moment, considering. “We live. We work. We love each other. We take the vacation we’ve been talking about. I’m thinking Hawaii, two weeks, just us and a beach.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“We figure out if we want kids someday. We keep showing up for our friends. We solve more cases and write more books and just...exist together.” Dax turned her to face him.
“We build a life that honors what we survived. That honors your father’s memory.
But Quinn…” He looked down into her eyes.
“We also let ourselves be happy. We let ourselves have easy moments and boring Tuesdays and fights about whose turn it is to take out the trash.”
Quinn laughed, tears pricking her eyes again. “Boring Tuesdays sound amazing.”
“They really do.” Dax cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “You deserve boring Tuesdays, Quinn Barrett. You deserve happiness and peace and a life that isn’t defined by tragedy.”
“Quinn Mercer,” she corrected softly. “I changed it officially last week. The paperwork finally came through.”
Something flickered in Dax’s expression—surprise and joy and love all mixed together. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” Quinn pulled the new driver’s license from her pocket, showed him the name printed there in official state font: Quinn Elizabeth Mercer. “I’m keeping Barrett for my byline. For the books. But legally, personally…I’m yours.”
Dax pulled her into a kiss that tasted like coffee and apple pie and promise. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For choosing me. For choosing this life. For being brave enough to love again after everything you lost.”
“Thank you, for all that and more. Especially for being the partner I needed even when I was too stubborn to admit it.” Quinn’s hands fisted in his shirt. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Dax. Probably still stuck in grief, still fighting Wheeler alone, still—”
“But you’re not. You’re here. We’re here. Together.” Dax kissed her again, softer this time. “And we’re going to be okay. Better than okay. We’re going to be happy.”
Quinn believed him.
For the first time in more than eleven years, she believed that happiness wasn’t just possible—it was real. It was hers. It was this moment, this man, this life they were building one day at a time.
They went back inside, locked up the house, turned off the lights. Climbed the stairs to their bedroom where the sheets still smelled like the lavender detergent Quinn used because it reminded her of her grandmother.
They made love slowly, tenderly, with the comfort of two people who knew each other’s bodies, who’d seen each other at their worst and chosen to stay anyway.
After, lying tangled together in the dark, Quinn listened to Dax’s breathing even out into sleep. She should sleep too. She had an early interview tomorrow with a podcast about the book, had a meeting with her editor about potential next projects, had a full day ahead.
But for now, she just wanted to lie here and feel grateful.
For Dax’s arm around her waist. For the weight of her wedding ring on her finger. For the sound of the wind in the maple tree outside their window. For the simple, extraordinary gift of being alive and safe and loved.
Quinn’s last thought before sleep claimed her was of her father.
We did it, Dad. We got him. Justice for you, for Leesa, for everyone.
And I’m happy. I’m building a life you’d be proud of.
I hope wherever you are, you can see this. Can see how your sacrifice mattered. How your story changed lives.
I love you. I miss you. But I’m okay now.
I’m finally okay.
Quinn slept without nightmares for the first time in as long as she could remember.
And in the morning, she woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains, to Dax’s hand warm on her hip, to the smell of coffee brewing on the timer they’d set the night before.
She woke to the rest of her life.
And it was beautiful.
THE END