Epilogue
EIGHT YEARS LATER
After two years of planning, approvals, and construction, the extension on the cottage was finally complete.
The two new bedrooms, one with an ensuite bathroom, were tucked at the back of the house, surrounded by lush forest. At the height of summer, birds sang, leaves rustled, and the sun dappled the forest floor with dancing shadows.
I stood outside the big sliding glass doors that led to our private patio and inhaled the scent of the loamy earth. My hand coasted down my baby’s back where she was nestled against me in her carrier. She was three months old today.
“Mommy!” My son Grady came crashing through the new master bedroom and hugged my legs. “Come see! Me and Dad unpacked all my toys!”
I let Grady tow me back through the new part of the house and over to the room that Gideon and I had shared for the first two years of our marriage, before Grady was born.
When our son arrived, we moved to Gideon’s apartment to have more space, but we were finally ready to move back into the little cottage nestled in the forest that had always felt like my forever home.
Jack, Knox, and Bennett had been happy for us to buy them out of their share, and then we’d started designing the addition and the renovations. I could hardly believe they were done.
“Oh, wow,” I said, admiring the shelves full of neatly arranged toys. I predicted it would last about four minutes before being torn asunder by the tornado that was our four-year-old.
“And this is the cars. My firetruck is right here. Mr. Stuffy goes right here, Mom, okay? Don’t move him.”
“Got it,” I replied solemnly, then looked down as the baby stirred.
Gideon stood from where he’d been fiddling with Grady’s bedframe. He kissed my temple, then peeked in the carrier at the sleepy baby who had already started rooting for milk.
“I’ll go and feed her in the nursery,” I said.
Gideon kissed me once more, his eyes soft.
“Love you,” he murmured, then turned to Grady.
“Race you to the tree?” The tree was a big oak on the edge of the forest. Gideon had already installed a swing on one of the thick branches overhanging the yard.
He had plans for an orchard in the clearing beyond, and he already had engineer’s drawings for a new pier.
It wasn’t exactly what his father had imagined, he said, but it was better. It was ours.
Grady jumped up from his toys and ran out with a yell.
I laughed as Gideon followed, my heart overflowing with love.
Padding to the nursery beside our new bedroom, I settled in the rocking chair and fed my baby.
I was exhausted from sleepless nights and long days during the move, but my heart was calm.
This was happiness, I realized. I could hear Grady screaming and laughing through the open window. Gideon chased after him, his deep voice echoing. My daughter Etta smacked my chest with her little hand to get my attention, and I smiled down at her.
“Hi, baby,” I whispered. “This is your new home.”
Later, I was sure we’d have guests. Gideon’s brothers and their wives were never far away.
There were cousins and kids and friends to meet.
Next week, I’d be going back to work part-time; I had a client arriving on Monday for a weekend retreat to design and start her wedding dress.
The Marswood Harbor Fair was happening in three weeks, and I’d somehow been roped into the organization committee after last year’s debacle—there hadn’t been enough stalls for everyone who wanted to participate.
But for now, all was calm. I could listen to my husband play with my son and enjoy the way my baby played with me while she nursed. My life was full and rich and happy.
Then my phone buzzed, and I saw a link to an article from Lola.
I clicked it and read the judge’s decision to sentence Henry to prison for the maximum allowable time.
Between the kidnapping and the gun, he would be gone for a long time.
It had taken years to get here—the wheel of justice truly was glacially slow—but I could finally breathe easy.
Our four-year-old tornado came back through the house. I finished nursing and went out to the living room to join Grady and Gideon. Etta cooed, fascinated by her big brother, until I tortured her with tummy time as she howled angrily at me.
Later, Gideon and I collapsed into bed. By some miracle, both kids were asleep at the same time. Gideon wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I relaxed into his arms, breathing in the scent of him. The scent of safety, of home, of love.
“How did Lola’s wedding dress turn out?” Gideon asked, sounding half-asleep already.
I smiled. “She’s gorgeous in it.”
“Wonder what her new husband’s like,” he mumbled.
“I guess we’re all going to find out tomorrow,” I replied.
“Can’t believe Grandma hasn’t given up. She’s nearly a hundred,” he grumbled.
“She’s drunk on her own success,” I said, and I laughed.
I thought about that day eight years ago, when my life had changed.
Thought about how vibrant Main Street looked these days, and all the new faces I ran into when I went into town.
I thought of Lola, the woman she’d grown into in the past eight years.
I hoped the man Etta had found for her was half as good as Gideon was.
“You think her marriage will work out as well as ours did? She’s still so young. ”
Gideon snored softly, already asleep. I kissed his shoulder, then turned around to check on baby Etta in the bassinet beside me, then glanced at the monitor to check on my son.
My family slept soundly, and a deep sense of peace settled over me. I’d never imagined life could be this good. As I snuggled into my husband’s side, he turned toward me and pulled me into the circle of his arms—exactly where I belonged.