Epilogue #2
He launched it six months after the election—quietly, without any press conferences or rebranding tours. Just a soft announcement on the website, a few lines about what he believed in, and a mission that spoke for itself.
The Alina Initiative for National Economic Mobility.
Financial literacy. Wealth access. Business grants for first-time founders. Fellowships for first-gen college students. Incubators for formerly incarcerated entrepreneurs.
It wasn't charity. It was structure. Strategy. Power redistributed with purpose.
And it let him be who he was without hiding behind a campaign. No suit. No slogan. Just work that mattered.
"You're kind of a powerhouse, you know that?" I said, looking up at him.
He raised a brow. "Kind of?"
I kissed him, while rolling my eyes.
He laughed against my lips, then pulled back and glanced at the clock. "Let me go get her up."
"I'll make breakfast."
The house was quiet except for the faint sound of birds outside and the occasional creak of the stairs when someone moved. The kind of morning you didn't notice unless you'd lived through the opposite—chaos, uncertainty, the feeling of always running behind.
Now things were calm.
I made my way downstairs, already thinking through what we had in the fridge—eggs, almond milk, frozen waffles, strawberries if they hadn't gone soft.
The waffle iron hissed softly on the counter as I poured the last scoop of batter, steam rising up into the quiet kitchen. The syrup was already out. Strawberries sliced. I even cut the butter into those little perfect squares the way Alina liked.
She had me wrapped. Fully.
Alina rounded the corner, already dressed in her little school uniform—navy sweater vest, white button-down, and her pink clip-on tie just slightly crooked.
Her braids from last night were replaced with a half up half down.
Herr face was scrubbed clean and her little black Mary Janes were already strapped on. Brooks had done his part.
She looked so much like him in the mornings it made me laugh—grumpy, quiet, and already hungry.
"Can you make the squares?" she mumbled, climbing onto one of the stools at the island.
"They're already on the plate," I said, flipping the last waffle onto the cooling rack.
She peeked over the counter and gave a sleepy nod of approval. "Can I have the pink plate?"
I pulled it from the cabinet without question. "You didn't even have to ask."
I set it in front of her, cut-up waffles already topped with butter and syrup just the way she liked, as my phone buzzed on the counter.
Tati.
I answered, balancing the phone between my cheek and shoulder while grabbing Alina's water cup.
"Hey, girl."
"Morning! Sorry to call so early," Tati said, her voice slightly winded like she was already walking. "Can Miles ride with you to school? I have to take Maliyah to the pediatrician—she's been coughing all night."
"Of course," I said without hesitation. "His car seat's still in the back of my car, right?"
"Yeah—from the zoo last weekend," she said. "You're a lifesaver. I owe you."
"You always say that and never pay up."
"I'm a fraud," she said, laughing. "We're walking over now."
"Perfect. Just ring the bell."
I hung up and glanced at Alina, who was halfway through her waffles, chewing like it was a full-time job.
"Miles is riding with us today," I told her.
She perked up immediately. "Can I bring him one of my fruit roll-ups?"
"That's your last one."
"I'll eat half. He can have the other half."
I raised a brow. "You're suddenly generous this morning."
She smiled with her mouth full. "He gave me half of his Z bar yesterday."
She hopped off the stool, heading toward the front hall to grab her little pink mini backpack just as the doorbell rang.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and opened the door.
There was Tati, in leggings and a big hoodie, holding Miles by the hand. He had his Spider-Man backpack on, thumb hooked in the strap, and his grin was way too smug for seven-thirty in the morning.
"Miles!" Alina yelled, running to the door.
"Hey," he said casually. "Auntie Amira guess who beat Alina on the track during recess yesterday?"
Alina crossed her arms. "That track has bumps in it and my shoes were untied."
"Excuses," Miles said.
"Nun-uh," she countered.
Tati and I looked at each other and tried not to laugh.
"They're ridiculous," I whispered.
"They get it from us," she whispered back. "Thank you again."
"Always. Tell Maliyah I hope she feels better."
"She says she misses Alina already."
"I'll have her draw something for her after school."
Tati nodded and waved goodbye, jogging down the porch steps.
We called a goodbye to Brooks before stepping out the house. I helped Miles climb into his car seat while Alina buckled herself in beside him, still muttering under her breath about shoes and speed.
Once they were strapped in, I climbed into the driver's seat.
"Miles," Alina said seriously, "you can have the big half of my fruit roll-up. I already ate the little half."
I shook my head, biting back a laugh as I pulled out of the driveway, listening to them argue about their different show speed.
They were chaos. But they were ours.
The laughter faded as we got closer to the school.
I kissed them both on the cheek—Alina sticky from syrup, Miles already halfway through the fruit roll-up—and watched them walk through the double doors with their backpacks bouncing and voices echoing behind them.
And then, it was quiet again.
Just me.
I sat behind the wheel for a moment before turning the key. I didn't go to the salon.
I drove past the street without even blinking, my hand tightening on the wheel like my body already knew where I was supposed to be—even if my mind hadn't caught up yet.
Sam was waiting for me when I pulled into the parking deck of the hospital. She'd texted me the room number twenty minutes earlier, and I still felt like I was floating outside of myself. Like I was showing up to someone else's appointment. Someone else's life.
The elevator ride felt longer than it should've. My reflection in the stainless steel doors looked calm, but inside, everything was tight. Quiet. I hadn't said it out loud. Not to myself. Not even in the car. But I knew.
I'd known for days. Maybe weeks.
Sam met me just outside the room, in a set of light pink scrubs and white sneakers that squeaked on the tile when she hugged me.
"Hey," she said gently. "You okay my love?"
I nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just kinda nervous."
She gave me a long look—one that said she knew better—but didn't push. "Come on. Room's ready. The machine's already warming up."
The space was clean and soft. Low lights. A few pale lavender decals on the wall to make it feel less sterile. I climbed onto the table with a deep breath, pulling my shirt up and letting my leggings slide just low enough for the scan.
"Cold gel warning," she said, flipping on the screen.
I winced when it touched my skin. "Why is it always like this?"
"Tradition."
I rolled my eyes, but she smiled.
The wand pressed against my stomach and moved in slow, circular motions. The screen flickered, white and gray static at first, then—
There.
My breath caught.
It was small. So small. Just a little flickering bean in the middle of the monitor. But it was real. Moving. Alive.
Sam's voice softened. "That's your baby."
I blinked fast, not trusting my voice. My hand went to my chest like I needed to hold my heart in place.
"Heartbeat looks strong," she added. "Eight weeks, give or take."
I stared at the screen. "Eight?"
"Yep." She clicked a few things, saving the images. "You wanna hear it?"
I nodded, throat tight.
She turned the volume up and a few seconds later, the room filled with the soft, rapid rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn't mine. It echoed off the walls. Bounced around in my bones.
Tears slipped out before I could stop them.
Sam touched my shoulder. "You okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I just..."
She handed me a tissue. I didn't even reach for it right away. I couldn't look away from the screen.
"It doesn't feel real," I whispered. "Like—I just did this with Alina five years ago."
"You're doing it again," Sam said gently.
I looked at her. "What?"
"Making it sound like you don't deserve good things. Like this can't be happening to you because everything else has been hard."
My lip trembled.
She squeezed my hand. "It is happening. You're pregnant. And you're not alone this time."
That broke something open.
I wiped my face quickly and exhaled, the kind of breath that carried years of fear in it.
Sam stood and walked over to the printer, then handed me two small ultrasound photos. The baby—my baby—looked like a smudge of ink and light. But it was enough.
"Have you told him yet?" she asked quietly. "That you have a feeling you're pregnant?"
I shook my head. "I wanted to make sure before saying anything."
"Do you want this?" she asked, not accusing—just making space.
"Yes." My voice cracked. "But I'm scared."
"Of him?"
"No," I said quickly. "Never him."
"Then what?"
I looked down at the photo in my hand. "Of ruining the life we just got right. Of changing everything again."
Sam sat beside me. "You've already changed. You just haven't caught up yet."
We sat there in the quiet for a minute. No machines. No appointments waiting. Just two friends and a secret that felt bigger than both of us.
"Thank you," I said softly.
She nodded. "You know I got you."
I slid off the table and tucked the ultrasound photos carefully into the inside pocket of my purse. They felt too fragile to hold in my bare hands, like one wrong move and the moment would disappear.
Sam squeezed my arm one more time before I left the room.
"Text me when you get home," she said. "And everything will work out perfectly, okay?"
"I' know," I whispered, trying for a smile.
But my voice gave me away.