Epilogue
Five Years Later
Julian had been silent for three months, and today he hummed.
I had fifteen minutes until my last client of the day, which meant fifteen minutes to decompress from what had been an emotionally intense session with Julian, a seven-year-old dealing with selective mutism.
We’d been working together for three months, and today he finally hummed along to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” while I played piano. It was such a small thing to anyone else, but to me it felt like watching the sun break through storm clouds.
This was why I loved my job.
My phone buzzed on the piano bench, and Drew’s name appeared on the screen along with a photo that made my chest warm.
He was crouched next to our kitchen island, his hair mussed and his T-shirt covered in what looked suspiciously like pancake batter.
Behind him, I could make out the edge of Rory’s straight brown hair as she stood on a step stool, probably “helping” make dinner.
Andy
Crisis level: moderate. Someone insisted on making pancakes for dinner and may have gotten more batter on the ceiling than in the bowl. Also, she wants to know if you can bring home chocolate chips.
I laughed out loud, the sound echoing in my empty office.
Even through text, I could picture the scene perfectly—Drew trying to maintain some semblance of adult supervision while Rory exercised her newfound independence in the kitchen.
At six years old, she’d developed both her father’s stubbornness and what Drew liked to call my “artistic vision,” which apparently extended to abstract pancake art on various kitchen surfaces.
Me
I’ll be home by 5:30 with choc chips in hand. Try to keep the kitchen standing until then.
Andy
No promises. She’s eyeing the mixer now with a look I recognize. Pretty sure she got that from you.
I shook my head, but my cheeks were starting to hurt from how hard I was smiling. I knew exactly what look he was talking about, and there was no way she got that from anyone but him.
My wedding ring caught the light as I typed my response, and I twisted it after I set my phone down, remembering our actual wedding three years ago.
We’d eloped to the courthouse in Missoula with just Ava, Liam, Rachel, and three-year-old Rory as our witnesses—a decision that had felt both rebellious and necessary after months of wedding planning disasters.
Every conversation with our families had devolved into passive-aggressive comments about guest lists, venues, and whether the Dumontiers and Tinsleys could sit in the same room without security present.
The final straw had been when both our fathers had gotten into a shouting match at what was supposed to be a peaceful venue walk-through, right in front of Rory.
Drew had looked at our daughter’s confused, frightened face and made the decision for both of us. “We’re eloping,” he’d said that night after Rory was asleep. “Just us and the people who actually support us.”
So we’d snuck away on a Thursday morning, and gotten legally married in a simple ceremony that had still felt magical because I was marrying my person.
Six months later, we’d held the “wedding” our families expected—complete with the dress, the photographer, and the carefully orchestrated seating chart that kept the feuding sides separated.
The judge who married us also happened to be the same judge who completed my adoption of Rory. Her mother—whoever she was—had never returned for her, and since she’d included a legal waiving of her rights when she’d abandoned Rory, it was a pretty straightforward process.
It was her loss. Rory was the most amazing little girl I’d ever met.
She was smart, vivacious, and kindhearted.
Drew and I had talked about what we’d tell her about her mom.
Drew didn’t love the idea of confessing to his daughter that he had no recollection of the woman, or even know her name, and he still had fears that one day she’d just show up, but we’d agreed that we would always be honest with Rory.
So far, we hadn’t had to worry about it.
After my last client—a teenage boy using guitar compositions to work through anxiety—I locked up the office and headed home. The drive took me past the shiny new stadium where Drew worked as head athletic trainer for Montana’s professional football team.
Our house was a contemporary mountain home, all big windows and open spaces that gave us lots of natural lighting. More importantly, there was enough room for Rory to chase the dog from one end to the other. Drew’s truck was in the driveway, along with Liam’s motorcycle.
“Mommy!” Rory launched herself at me the moment I walked through the door, wrapping her arms around my waist in a hug that knocked me back a step.
At six, she was all elbows and knees and wild hair that never stayed in whatever style I attempted.
She had Drew’s nose and stubborn chin, but her smile was pure sunshine.
The word “Mommy” still filled me with giddy excitement, even three years after the adoption.
Rory had started calling me that naturally, long before the legal paperwork was finalized.
The first time she’d said it, Drew had gotten tears in his eyes, and I’d had to excuse myself to cry in the bathroom for ten minutes. To this day, it never got old.
“Hey, baby girl,” I said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “How was school?”
“Good! We learned about fractions and I told Mrs. Bennett that Daddy already taught me about thirds because of hockey periods and she said I was very smart.” She beamed up at me with pride.
“And then Bodie James threw up during lunch but not on me, just near me, which was still gross but not as gross as it could have been.”
I bit back a laugh and then said, “Let’s go find Daddy.”
Drew and Liam were in the kitchen, where the scene was exactly as chaotic as I’d imagined. Drew was standing at the stove with a spatula in one hand, attempting to flip what looked like a unicorn-shaped pancake while Liam provided unhelpful commentary from his seat at our kitchen island.
“Hey, beautiful,” Drew said, abandoning his pancake duties to kiss me hello. It was the same kiss he’d given me every day for the past five years—and it never failed to make butterflies take flight in my stomach. “How was work?”
“It was great. I had a breakthrough with one of my clients today.”
“No shit. Really?” Drew’s face lit up with genuine excitement, then he caught Rory’s stern look. “Sorry. No way. Really?”
“Nice try, Daddy. That’s still a dollar in the swear jar,” Rory informed him with the authority of someone who took her job as family swear police very seriously.
Although no one paid into that swear jar more than Liam.
“Hey, Li, you staying for dinner?”
“No, I’ve gotta head home. Just wanted to stop by to pick up those tickets from Drew.”
Drew got two tickets to every home game, and whenever we couldn’t go, we gave them to our friends. Liam gave us all quick hugs before he was on his way.
As we ate our unicorn-shaped pancakes—which really looked more like a cucumber with a horn—around our kitchen table, I listened to Rory chatter about her day and felt that familiar sense of contentment settle over me.
This was everything I’d never known I wanted and now couldn’t imagine living without.
After dinner and homework, Rory settled at the piano to practice her recital piece. I sat beside her on the bench, helping her work through the trickier passages while Drew cleaned up the kitchen.
“This part is hard,” Rory said, frowning at a particularly complex measure of her simplified Chopin piece.
“It is hard,” I agreed. “But remember what we always say about hard things?”
“They’re worth doing because they make us stronger,” she recited, then immediately launched back into the passage with renewed determination.
Later, after Rory was tucked into bed with her current favorite book and at least three stuffed animals, Drew and I collapsed onto our couch with glasses of wine.
“So,” he said, settling back against the cushions and pulling me against his side. “You said you had a good day?”
“Really good day,” I confirmed, curling up against his warmth. “I got some interesting news.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I took a breath, suddenly nervous. “Dr. Richardson at the children’s hospital called. They offered me the music therapy director position.”
Drew went still. We’d talked about this possibility for months—the chance to expand my practice to include hospitalized children and build a program from the ground up.
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them I needed to talk to my family first,” I said. “It would mean longer hours sometimes, possibly some evening or weekend work. I know we’ve got a good balance now with Rory’s schedule—”
“Harper,” Drew interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “This is your dream job.”
“It’s a dream job,” I corrected. “But my actual dreams are right here in this house.”
“You can have both,” he said, pulling me closer. “We’ll make it work. We always do. But I don’t want you to ever sacrifice your dreams.”
I let out a sigh of relief and thought about how far we’d come—from enemies to lovers to parents, building this life one day at a time.
Drew was right. We’d figured out how to make everything work so far.
We wanted more kids eventually, but we were still young, and I really did want to build this program. It could help so many people.
“I’m proud of you.” Drew kissed my forehead. “Besides, Rory’s going to be so excited that her mom is officially helping sick kids feel better with music.”
“I should probably call them tomorrow and accept, then.”
“You should definitely call them tomorrow and negotiate for the salary and benefits package you deserve,” Drew said with a grin.
This was why I’d fallen in love with him—not just because he supported my dreams, but because he believed in them more fiercely than I did sometimes.
“Speaking of family,” Drew said, “your dad called earlier. Wants to know if we’re coming to Sunday dinner this week.”
I still felt a small thrill of amazement whenever Drew mentioned casual conversations with my father. The same man who’d spent my childhood teaching me that Dumontiers were lying, manipulative parasites was now calling my husband about weekend logistics.
It hadn’t been easy. In fact, it had been a slow thaw between our families that was still a little icy sometimes.
There had been stilted conversations and carefully neutral birthday cards.
But somewhere along the way, watching Drew with Rory had begun to crack something in both our parents’ hearts.
Hard to maintain a decades-old grudge when faced with a father patiently teaching his daughter how to ride a bike or reading bedtime stories in different character voices.
“Tell him yes, but we’re bringing dessert. And maybe warn him that Rory’s learned how to make friendship bracelets and will probably try to give everyone matching ones.”
“Already ahead of you. She’s planning to make enough for both sets of grandparents.”
“Of course she is. She gets that need to fix everything from you.”
He chuckled and kissed my head again before grabbing the remote and turning on the show we’d been watching every night after Rory went to bed. I snuggled deeper into his warmth, so thankful that life had turned out completely different than I’d ever expected.
Almost six years ago, I went to a hockey auction and bid three hundred dollars on my enemy, convinced I was buying revenge.
Instead, I’d bought forever.
And it was the best investment I’d ever made.
Campus Secret is up next and Liam and Ava’s story is extra spicy…