Epilogue #3
“She okay?” Brayden whispered.
“She’s breathing,” I whispered back.
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’ve checked her, like, a hundred times.” I let out a low sigh.
He frowned. “Check again.”
I rolled my eyes, but I shifted closer, peeking down at our daughter. Her chest rose and fell, slow and steady, her lips pursed around an invisible milk dream.
“She’s fine,” I said gently. “You, however, might need a sedative.”
“Rude,” he murmured. “Accurate, but rude.”
I eased back and stared at the ceiling. “Do you ever think about… how wild this is?”
“That we created another human?” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Every five minutes.”
“No, I mean…” I swallowed. “That this is real. We’re here. Together. That I get to bring my baby home to a place that’s… mine. Ours.” My voice shook. “I’ve never had that before. A home that wasn’t temporary.”
He was quiet for a long beat. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough.
“This house isn’t temporary, Karla. Neither am I.” He reached over, sliding his hand across the space between us until his fingers brushed mine. “You’re stuck with me.”
I turned my head to look at him. The dim light cut shadows along his cheekbones. His eyes were focused only on me, the rest of the world falling away.
“Promise?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
He squeezed my hand. “I promise. I’m all in. You, me, and Lilly. For as long as you’ll have me.”
My eyes burned again. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”
He shifted closer, careful of my body, and pressed his forehead to mine. His breath was warm, his presence solid and steady and everything I’d ever dreamed of without even knowing how to name it.
“I love you,” he murmured.
“I love you, too,” I whispered back.
We lay like that for a while, hand in hand, listening to the soft little sounds of our daughter in her bassinet. The city hummed outside our window, car horns and distant sirens weaving into a lullaby that somehow felt gentler tonight.
After a few minutes, Lilly let out a tiny cry—a small, questioning wail. Instantly, both of us moved.
“I’ve got her,” I said.
“No, I’ve got her,” he said at the same time.
We froze, then both started to laugh quietly.
“You go,” I insisted. “If I move too fast, something is going to fall off that shouldn’t.”
He kissed my forehead again and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot over to the bassinet. I watched him scoop her up, big hands impossible gentle, cradling her against his chest.
“Hey, Lils,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Dad’s got you.”
Dad.
I watched them from the bed, my heart expanding to fill every corner of the room. Brayden rocked her slowly, humming something off-key and soft, bouncing just slightly on his heels. She settled back down with surprising speed, her tiny face pressing into his chest.
He walked back to the bed and sat carefully, keeping her nestled in his arms. “You want to try a family cuddle?”
My throat closed around a yes.
He arranged us with infinite care—me propped up on pillows, Lilly nestled in the crook of my arm, his body curved protectively around both of us. One of his hands stayed on her back, the other resting over my hip.
I looked down at her. So small. So perfect. Little lashes dusting her cheeks, lips parted in sleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest.
“Hi,” I whispered. “Welcome home, baby girl.”
She didn’t answer, obviously. But somehow, it felt like she knew. Like the three of us, tangled up in that bed in our little house, were exactly where we were meant to be.
Brayden’s chin brushed my shoulder as he leaned closer. “This feels…”
“Right?” I finished.
He nodded against my skin. “Yeah. Right. Like… everything before this was practice.”
I thought of every foster home, every goodbye, every night I’d lain awake wondering if I’d ever belong anywhere.
I thought of the first time I’d seen him at the hospital, broken and grieving.
I thought of when he adopted Seven for Myla, bringing them back into my life.
I thought of the first time he’d called me family and meant it.
And now, here we were.
“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly. “What if I screw this up?”
“You won’t,” he said without hesitation. “But on the off chance you try, I’ll be right here screwing it up with you. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
I let out a shaky breath and rested my head against his. “Okay.”
The room went silent again, just the soft hum of the heater and the rhythm of three sets of breaths. My body hurt. My eyes burned. But I’d never felt more whole.
My fingers stroked Lilly’s tiny hand, marveling at each minuscule finger. She twitched, then curled those fingers around mine in her sleep.
“Look,” I whispered.
Brayden inhaled sharply. “She’s holding your hand.”
“She’s holding our future,” I murmured, surprising myself.
“Damn,” he said softly. “That was deep.”
“I’m allowed one profound line per day,” I told him. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Save some for tomorrow,” he teased.
I smiled, my eyes fluttering shut, contentment settling over me like the softest blanket.
For the first time in my life, the word home wasn’t hypothetical.
It wasn’t something other people had. It was right here, in this bed, in this house, wrapped in the arms of the man I loved and the baby girl we’d brought into the world.
My family.
As I drifted toward sleep, one last thought floated through my mind, warm and certain.
We were okay.
We were better than okay.
We were us.
And this—this quiet, tangled, exhausted joy—was just the beginning.
the end.