Epilogue #3
I stepped out into the hallway, the scent of disinfectant and coffee suddenly sharper, louder, heavier than before. My legs carried me toward the elevator even though my mind was still in that dark room, listening to that tiny heartbeat.
I walked out holding more than an ultrasound. I was holding a secret I wasn't ready to speak aloud.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot of the salon, the sun had fully risen and the street was already alive—buses hissing past, women in sweats and silk presses grabbing coffee.
I walked in to the sound of chatter and flat irons clicking on, the familiar scent of sweet almond oil and heated curl cream filling the air.
"Look who decided to grace us with her presence," Julian teased from behind the front desk, already sipping an iced coffee and scrolling on his iPad.
I cracked a small smile. "You and that damn ipad."
"Not too much." He clicked the screen off. "Where have you been?"
"All over," I nodded. "It's been a long morning."
"Well, you're here now. Come say hi to the girls."
He stepped out from behind the desk and walked with me down the main hallway, greeting stylists and clients like he'd been here since opening day. He hadn't—but you wouldn't know it. He fit right in, everyone knew and loved him by now.
We reached my office, and he opened the door for me, stepping back to let me in. I hesitated, hovering in the doorway.
"Actually... can you close the door for a sec?"
Julian raised a brow but didn't question it. He stepped in with me and shut the door gently behind us.
"What's up?"
I didn't answer right away. Just reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out the ultrasound photo, holding it out with both hands.
He took one look and froze.
"Shut up."
I didn't say anything.
"Amira," he breathed. "Is this real?"
I nodded. "Eight weeks."
His whole face softened—like it physically melted into something wide-eyed and warm. "Oh my God."
I sat down in the chair behind my desk, hands still trembling slightly.
"I haven't told Brooks yet," I admitted.
Julian crouched down in front of me so we were eye level. "Are you okay?"
"I think so," I whispered. "I don't know. I'm happy... I know I'm happy, but I'm scared, too."
He nodded like he understood. "Because everything just started to feel settled."
"Yeah," I said, my voice breaking. "I don't want to ruin that."
"You're not ruining anything," he said firmly. "You're building more of it. You're growing your family. That's not ruining—it's adding."
That's when the tears came.
Not heavy, but slow. Careful.
Julian reached for the tissue box and handed me one without making a big deal out of it.
"My little cry baby," he said gently.
I let out a half-laugh, half-sob.
"If there's one thing any of us knows for sure," he added. "Brooks is going to be ecstatic. He was probably born to be a dad. Girl you'll be just fine".
I nodded slowly.
"Thank you."
Julian smiled and gave me a wink. "I'm already planning the gender reveal in my head. Guncle part two."
"Absolutely not," I said through a sniffle.
He smiled again, but this time he didn't say anything. Just gave my hand one last squeeze and stood.
"I'll be out front if you need me," he said, and left the door cracked behind him.
I sat for a minute longer.
Let the silence settle around me.
The tissue stayed balled in my fist as I looked down at the ultrasound photo in my lap—still barely believing it was mine. That this was happening again and that this time, I wasn't alone in it.
I got home just after six.
The house smelled like roasted garlic and something sweet—probably Brooks's idea of balance. I could hear Alina's voice before I even got my shoes off, her little laugh rising and falling like it was trying to lift the walls.
"Mommy's home!" she shouted from the kitchen.
I dropped my keys onto the entryway table and followed the smell of food down the hallway, trying to steady the rhythm of my own thoughts. I sat my purse on the kitchen counter.
Brooks was behind the stove, apron on, sleeves pushed up, flipping something in a pan.
Alina was perched at the island in her matching dinner chair, crayons scattered across the placemat in front of her. She grinned when she saw me.
"You just missed the spaghetti flip," she said dramatically.
Brooks glanced over his shoulder. "Tell her I did a great job."
He smiled and reached for two plates. "I should be done in two minutes."
Alina gave me a long look. "You look tired."
A small laugh broke through me, "Gee thanks Alina."
"You should take a nap after dinner. That's what I do."
I smiled at her logic and reached to gently tug on one of her curls. "You're so smart for your age."
"Daddy said that too!" she said proudly.
Brooks plated the food and joined us at the table. The speaker in the corner hummed with a soft playlist, one of the ones I always put on during slow Sunday mornings. He must've queued it on purpose.
I watched them eat. Listened to the clink of forks, the low murmur of Alina explaining the difference between second grade and first. Brooks just nodded and sipped his water.
It should've made me feel peaceful.
And in a way—it did.
But under the surface, I was buzzing. My body was in the room, but my mind hadn't settled since the ultrasound. The weight of it all pressed behind my ribs, soft and silent but constant.
"You okay?" Brooks asked, finally looking up from his plate.
My eyes snapped up. "Yeah."
"You sure?"
I nodded quickly. "Just tired."
"Daddy," Alina put down her fork. "You can't see she's tired. Look under her eyes."
He watched me a second longer, then let it go. "I told you not to do payroll on a Thursday."
"I know."
Alina blinked. "Thursdays are cursed."
Brooks grinned. "Exactly."
She gasped. "That's the name of the book we're reading in class."
I smiled, even though my stomach twisted.
"Something exciting happened at work today," he said, changing the subject.
I blinked, grateful. "Yeah?"
He leaned back, a quiet pride creeping into his voice. "The board signed off on our partnership. Now at Harvard, Yale, and UPenn. Starting next semester, The Alina Initiative will offer five full-ride scholarships at each school."
My mouth fell open. "Brooks—that's huge."
Alina dropped her fork. "That's so many schools!"
"Fifteen students," he said, glancing toward her with that familiar softness in his expression. "And their families and the people they'll go on to help."
I sat back in my chair and just looked at him for a second.
It had taken him a long time to feel like himself again after leaving politics. But now—this version of him? He was still a leader. Still building something. Just doing it his own way.
"That's amazing," I whispered.
He reached for his glass and took a slow sip. "It's a start."
Alina looked between us. "I want a scholarship too."
"You already have one," Brooks said, his eyes flicking toward me.
"You got a full ride to wherever you want," I added, smiling.
"To Spidey School," she announced proudly, raising her fork in the air like a microphone.
After dinner, I helped Alina into the bath, lotioned her legs, and braided her hair while she told me about the book they started in class. She yawned halfway through a sentence and I knew she was done for the night.
Brooks came up to kiss her goodnight.
"Love you," he whispered, brushing a kiss to her cheek.
She sleepily kissed him back. "Love you too, Daddy."
I stood in the doorway for a second after we turned off the light. Watched her chest rise and fall under the covers. Watched Brooks press his hand briefly to the doorframe before walking away like he always did.
We didn't speak as we moved through the hallway. Not at first.
Downstairs, the kitchen was mostly clean—dishes stacked in the sink, a few water glasses on the counter. Brooks was at the sink, sleeves rolled up again, warm water running.
The speakers were off now. The house was quiet.
And it was just us.
I stood in the doorway for a moment and watched him—like I hadn't been looking at him all day.