Epilogue #4
Something about the stillness, the lighting, the way his back curved slightly as he scrubbed a plate. It made the moment feel... suspended. Like if I moved too fast, it would all shatter.
He turned before I could say anything.
"You okay?" he asked, drying his hands.
I nodded.
Then took a step closer.
Because no—I wasn't.
And it was time to say why.
He looked up when I stepped forward. "You sure you're okay? You've been quiet."
I nodded slowly. "I'm just... thinking."
He tossed the towel onto the counter. "About what?"
I hesitated, fingers curling around the edge of the kitchen island.
"I have something to tell you," I said. "And I don't know how to say it."
Brooks stilled.
His entire posture shifted—not tense, not panicked. Just... focused. The way he always did when he was trying to hear me clearly. Trying not to miss anything.
He stepped closer, eyes scanning mine. "You in trouble?"
"No," I said quickly. "No—nothing bad. I just—"
I swallowed. My heart was hammering.
"I went to see Sam this morning."
His brow lifted. "Is she okay?"
I reached into my purse I left on the counter, hands trembling slightly, and pulled out the photo.
Folded. Small. Faintly wrinkled.
I held it out to him without a word.
Brooks looked down at the paper, confused at first—until he opened it.
His fingers froze.
His eyes moved over the blurry grain of the image, the shape at the center of it, the date stamped in the corner. He blinked once. Then again.
The silence stretched long enough to make my chest ache.
Then he looked up at me.
"You're...?" His voice cracked mid-sentence.
I nodded.
"Eight weeks," I whispered. "Found out this morning."
Brooks didn't say anything.
He just stared—eyes wide, mouth parted slightly, like he was watching something he never thought he'd see again. His gaze dropped back to the photo, then back to me.
"You're pregnant?" he asked again, like he needed to hear it twice.
I nodded, smaller this time.
"I wanted to be sure before I said anything. I didn't want to... get your hopes up, or throw off everything we've built. I know we just got here. I know it's a lot."
He didn't speak.
He stepped forward and pulled me into his chest.
Tight.
So tight I almost couldn't breathe.
And then, right near my ear, he said it—quietly, almost stunned. "We're having a baby?"
I let out a small, tearful laugh.
He pulled back just enough to look at me. "Amira."
His voice was thick now, cracking at the edges. His hands framed my face like he was afraid I'd disappear if he blinked too fast.
"You've never looked more beautiful than you do right now."
I closed my eyes. Let it sink in.
"This wasn't planned," I whispered. "But I want it. I just... I was scared."
He nodded, brushing his thumb under my eye. "I know."
"I didn't want to ruin what we have," I said. "We're good right now. We're steady. I didn't want to mess that up."
He kissed me then—soft and slow. A forehead kiss. A thank-you kiss. A we're okay kiss.
"You didn't ruin anything," he said, resting his forehead against mine.
I exhaled for real this time. Like it finally left my body.
He kept holding me.
"Whatever you need," he murmured. "Every step of the way—I'm here. We're doing this together."
I nodded, tears slipping down my cheeks, and this time I didn't wipe them away.
He slid his hands down to my stomach, resting them gently there. Not possessive. Just present.
"And we're gonna get it right this time," he added.
"We already are," I whispered.
The kitchen was quiet again.
The dishes were done. The house was still. Upstairs, Alina was fast asleep.
And down here, in the soft warmth of our kitchen, we were already building the next chapter.
I used to think peace was something you had to earn something you had to fight your way toward or survive long enough to deserve.
But maybe it's quieter than that. Maybe it's not certainty or perfection—just a warm kitchen, a man who loves you back, a sleeping child upstairs, and a moment you never planned that somehow still feels like home.
I don't have the words for what this is yet.
I just know it isn't perfect. It isn't neat, but it's ours, and maybe that's enough.
Maybe for the first time, I don't want to run.
I want to stay.
To every reader—whether you've been here since the very beginning or just found this story recently—thank you.
Creating the world of Brooks and Amira has been one of the most rewarding things I've done this year.
I've spent months with these characters, drawing inspiration from a real-life situation of my own, and it's hard to imagine not brainstorming their next chapter or dropping little teasers to torment you all.
This won't be my last book. I'm still deciding whether to build something entirely new—or maybe return to this world one day, possibly through adult Alina's eyes. Either way, I hope to see your love and feedback in whatever comes next.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for feeling.
And thank you for loving this story.
—With love,
pinkyeoI