Nick
Epilogue
December
Three Years Later
“We're home!” I call out, locking the front door behind me. “Sorry we’re late!”
Grady runs in ahead of me through the foyer, dropping his duffel bag and ballet slippers, and heading to the dimly lit living room.
“Grady!” I blow out a heavy sigh before picking up his dance gear. “We talked about this…” I grumble, but he can't hear me. The excitement from The Nutcracker dress rehearsal is fading fast, and Mouse #2 already has his noise-cancelling headphones on.
Shrugging off my jacket, the rustic aroma of thyme and rosemary teases my senses.
I follow after my son, and I am instantly greeted by the twinkle of a thousand string lights.
Our eight-foot fir tree is beautifully adorned with silver and gold ornaments, illuminated by the glow of the fireplace.
Nat King Cole plays softly in the background as my wife—my stunning bride with her adorable short curls—hums along to the classic Christmas carol.
Life after cancer has been hard on Leah in ways neither of us expected. Her battle with it was fucking brutal, and as her partner, I tried to prepare myself for her darkest days. But no one ever warned me about the after. No one warned me about the fear. The guilt. The anger.
She wasn’t expecting it either. Between the changes to her body, the distance that's grown between her and her family, and the slow unraveling of the faith she was raised in, she's spent the last few years quietly battling depression.
In true Leah fashion, she's fine—or at least that's what she'd tell you.
Shortly after we got married, she stopped attending her family's church, but agreed to seek help in a different way: through a wonderful therapist named Pauline.
After her two-year check-up with no evidence of disease, Leah rallied, feeling like herself again.
She started substitute teaching last year and has since returned full-time—this time, in second grade, working alongside Chelsea.
She volunteers regularly at the Gulf Waters Animal Shelter—same place she adopted Angus—and has even joined a book club with the girls.
Finding her stride again is what led us to buy this house over the summer because she really wanted to entertain again.
Tonight is our third annual Friendsmas party with the Santiagos and Ramsdales, and my wife is like a kid going to Disney World.
She started preparing for this as soon as the holiday decorations hit the craft stores in July.
Her sense of taste hasn't fully returned, but she's turned into quite the cook.
I'm still the reigning champ of the household—she'll admit that—but after all the time we've spent in the kitchen together, she's closing the gap.
“Are those my boys?” She asks over her shoulder as she adjusts a platter of hors d'oeuvres.
“Mama!” Grady removes his headphones before throwing his arms around Leah's waist.
“There’s my Mouse #2!” She quickly embraces him, holding him tight against her hip.
Grady still doesn't know Leah is actually his aunt, nor does he know that Uncle Matthew is his father.
He is, however, in therapy with an excellent group of professionals that specialize in unique fostering cases.
It felt like the right step after the adoption was finalized.
Will we ever tell him the truth? I don't know.
Does he have the right to know? Probably.
We're taking it one step at a time, navigating through what's best for our son.
For now, our family is whole. Grady has a home.
He is loved, he is safe, and he is surrounded by so many people—including two parents—who love him very, very much.
“How was dress rehearsal, partner?” Leah ruffles Grady's hair as Angus rushes in to greet his favorite kid.
His head falls as he quietly pushes up his glasses.
Leah flashes me a worried glance before taking a seat and holding our son’s hand. “Did something change?”
While scratching behind Angus's ears, Grady slowly nods.
“Want to tell me about it?”
He scrunches up his nose. “Miss Lindsay changed my mark.”
“Oh gosh.” Leah’s face falls. “And you practiced the other one.”
“Twenty-six class rehearsals and then on my own.”
I bite back a smile.
“Wow,” Leah scoffs. “I'd be frustrated, too.”
“It—” he huffs—“it wasn't right.”
Leah squeezes his hand. “But … you figured it out anyway, right?”
He slowly adjusts his glasses, looking up at his mom. “I did.”
A smile spreads across Leah’s face. “Grady! That's a really big deal! I'm so proud of you.”
His mouth twitches into a crooked grin. A blush creeps across his face as he buries himself against his mother’s waiting arms.
Leah peppers the crown of his head with kisses. “Okay, buddy. Our friends will be here soon.” She stands, adjusting the headphones over his ears. “Why don't you head upstairs and read for a bit?”
My son eagerly agrees, skipping to his room, Angus in tow behind him.
I saddle up next to Leah, pulling her body against me.
“Hello there.” She giggles softly.
“Hello,” I whisper before pressing my lips to hers.
“What do you think?”
I kiss her again. “Absolutely amazing, Mrs. Crawford.”
She hums against my mouth. “Thanks to you and all your help, Mr. Crawford.”
I cradle her cheek, shaking my head. “I’m talking about you, darlin’.”
The air catches in her chest as her hands slide around my neck. Her eyes glitter with adoration, and God help me … I fall for her all over again.
The doorbell chimes, abruptly shifting us into host mode.
Before Leah can reach the foyer, the front door swings open and the Santiagos spill into the house in a whirlwind of winter coats, shopping bags, and excited chatter.
Julian barely gets a greeting out before Chelsea is ushering their daughters inside, reminding them not to shake the presents.
Moments later, the Ramsdales arrive with enough wine to survive a natural disaster and an armful of gifts that nearly blocks Jonathan's view of the front porch. Tatum graciously hugs everyone, carefully disguising the growing bump beneath her sweater.
When Jonathan announced last year that they were trying for a baby, it caught all of us off guard.
For years, he and Tatum have been firmly committed to being the cool aunt and uncle—and they excel at it.
But after a lot of therapy, healing, and honest conversations about the future, they changed their minds.
We all know they’re expecting; she knows we all know. But, we have vowed not to mention anything until after her anatomy scan in a few weeks.
“My God, it smells great in here, Leah!” Julian exclaims, helping his twins take off their jackets.
“I’ll say! My mouth is watering,” Chelsea jokes.
“Mom! Look at the tree!” Lizzie, his oldest daughter, shouts from the living room.
Before she can answer, Chelsea’s youngest girls bound into the room, nearly knocking her over. “?Mijas, despacio! No corran dentro de la casa.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, y’all.”
“It’s a party!” I shrug.
“Exactly, plus—” Leah looks at Angus, rolling on his back and begging for belly rubs—“he’ll sleep good tonight.”
“This really does feel like a Hallmark movie, Leah.” Tatum glances around in awe. “It’s absolutely stunning”
Leah hugs Tatum’s arm. “Thank you.”
“Where should we put the gifts?” Julian asks.
“Oh! Here.” My wife grabs a few gift bags, motioning for Julian to follow. “We can set them around the tree.”
“Is Grady still at rehearsal?” Jonathan asks.
“We just got back.” I casually slip my hands into my pockets. “It was a long afternoon, so we’re letting him charge up for tonight.”
An abrupt shriek of giggles and hollers from the girls echo from the living area.
“I may join him,” Jonathan jokes, patting me on the shoulder.
The next hour passes quickly with chaos of holiday cheer.
Leah pulls out a box of old teaching supplies, and the twins play school with Angus.
Poor guy looks longingly at us for scraps.
Grady eventually emerges from his room with a Smithsonian encyclopedia about dinosaurs tucked beneath his arm.
He settles comfortably into the festivities.
All the adults gather around the kitchen island, grazing on Leah’s appetizers while reminiscing over our medical school day antics.
“Did we ever figure out who was reserving us that study room—room 1269?” Julian asks.
Jonathan immediately starts laughing. “Shit … I forgot about that.”
“Wait, what happened?” Leah smiles, looking around the group.
Tatum rolls her eyes. “During our second year, we would rent out a study room in the lab, and we would get this email confirmation for room 1269.”
“Okay …” Leah furrows her brows. “I don’t get it.”
“There was no room 1269,” Tatum clarifies. “Someone was screwing with us—”
“Oh my God …” Jonathan gasps, eyeing me. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Wait a damn minute …” Julian holds up a hand, already chuckling. “One-two-six-nine? As in want to sixty-nine?”
Tatum and Chelsea groan as Jonathan tries to hide a grin. My wife rolls her eyes, playfully glaring at me.
“What? It was hilarious hearing y’all ask the clerk if they wanted to sixty-nine,” I joke. “The number alone should’ve been a dead giveaway it was me.”
“And this is the man you married.” Chelsea giggles, nodding to my wife.
“Yeah, well …” Leah takes a sip of her wine. “Nowadays, I’m the one making that reservation.”
The room explodes with laughter as hands slap and pound the counter top. My wife looks up at me, her lips meeting mine in a sweet kiss.
“What’s with all the noise?” Lizzie walks into the room, the other kids filing in behind her.
“Yeah, is it time for presents?” Grady asks.
“That—” I grab my son, finger combing his blond waves—“sounds like a good idea, partner.”
The living room floor becomes a sea of wrapping paper as the kids tear through the gifts. Books, jewelry-making kits, and footed-pajamas are received with squeals and gratitude. But, of course, the damn Ramsdales have to give a gift that puts all of ours to shame.