Epilogue
Oliver
Twenty-three years later
The house is too quiet when I walk downstairs.
Ten kids should make that impossible. Six are born with Lyra’s spark and sass, and four are raised in it.
Even at their best, someone’s always hungry, bleeding, whining, laughing, or plotting.
I was raised in silence. Lyra took that and replaced it with noise.
She filled every room she touched, and the kids did too.
So when the house goes quiet like this, I don’t call it peace. I call it wrong.
I find her in the kitchen, curled at the breakfast nook in one of my old law school T-shirts.
It hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is shorter now, honey-blonde, the ends curling at her jaw.
She’s barefoot, legs tucked under her, heels pressed against the bench, her toenails painted a bright pink.
She holds a mug in one hand and a book in the other.
The ring on her finger catches the light when she shifts her grip on the mug.
There’s a faint crease between her brows that only shows up when she’s invested, and the flush climbing her cheeks tells me exactly what she’s reading.
Her lips part, then she bites her bottom lip.
I stay in the doorway, watching her like I always do.
It isn’t just a habit. It’s a necessity.
Twenty-three years later, my attention still finds her first.
The back door slams. Heavy boots stomp off. Gage. I exhale. “I’ve told him a thousand times to stop slamming that fucking—”
“Let it go,” Lyra says without looking up, smirking into her coffee cup.
“How long have you known I was standing here?”
“As soon as you got there,” she says, finally lifting her gaze. “I can feel your eyes on me.”
She’s right. She always is. Her green eyes sparkle when she smiles.
“He didn’t say where he was going,” I mutter, taking the seat beside her.
She sips her coffee. “Probably to see Kass.”
“Hmmm.”
She laughs and sets the book down. I lean over and press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in coconut and warmth.
“I’ll give him thirty minutes. Then I’m calling security.” I reach for her hand and spin the ring on her finger. She’s never taken it off. Not once.
“I bought it.”
She blinks. “Bought what?”
“Our old place,” I say. “Above Willow Reads.”
She stares at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious.
“I told Willow I wanted it the moment she was ready,” I continue. “She called last month. Said she’s retiring. She never rented it out. Kept it the way we left it.”
Lyra’s mug lowers slowly. “Oliver…”
“I wanted it back. The place where we got engaged. Where we made our first baby.” I pause. “Technically two.”
She laughs, breathless. “You’re insane.”
“I’ve been insane since the day I saw you running through the forest,” I say. “Shadows in your eyes and a mouth that said, ‘don’t touch me’ like it was a dare.”
I tug her into my lap. Her hand lands on my shoulder, fingers curling into my shirt.
“You bought the apartment?” she whispers.
“And Willow Reads.”
She covers her mouth. “God, I love you.”
“I know,” I say, kissing her shoulder. “And I’m still obsessed with you.”
“We should take a weekend,” she murmurs. “Just us.”
“Already planned. Next weekend.”
Her smile turns soft. “It’s going to be so nostalgic. We haven’t been in the apartment since leaving. And I miss Willow; our last trip was too short.”
“We can make another baby,” I suggest.
Her eyes bulge. “No,” she says immediately.
I kiss her lips, trailing them down her jaw to her neck, where I lick and suck, then finally bite. Not hard enough to break skin, just enough for her to moan and arch into me.
“For fuck’s sake, gross,” Gage, our seventeen-year-old, chokes out as he walks in.
Lily, our twelve-year-old, swoons, clutching her chest dramatically as she follows Gage. “God, I can’t wait to be in love.”
“You say that now. Wait until your soulmate follows you around campus like a fucking stalker,” Gage grumbles.
Lyra laughs against my chest. “Remember when I dodged you for a whole week, and you kept tracking me down.”
I smirk. “You were so damn stubborn.”
The kids start filtering in like a slow-moving tidal wave after that. Mystery of the quiet morning: solved.
Lyra leans into me amidst the chaos and presses her lips to my ear. “I’d do it all over again,” she murmurs.
No matter how many years pass. No matter how many children we raise or ghosts we bury.
I will always come home.
I will always protect her.
I will always be the darkness behind her light.
And she will always be my Dollface.
The End.