Epilogue
Sunlight streamed in through the cracked window, warm and golden, catching dust motes as they drifted lazily through the air.
The clock in the corner ticked its soft tick-tick-tick, steady and familiar.
The room smelled like pine trees and apples—the candle Delia gave me before she left still burning on the nightstand, its flame small but stubborn.
She and Colton had moved to Montana a few weeks after Melody’s funeral. His contract had started, and they needed a fresh beginning—a place where Melody’s ghost didn’t linger in every hallway, every photograph, every breath.
Mama cried for an entire week after they left, sometimes into her pillow, sometimes into her morning coffee. She tried to be strong, but the lines beneath her eyes told the truth. She was tired. We all were.
Dad threw himself into the horses, taking Ethan with him to prepare the winter pastures. He found comfort in the younger man’s presence, even if he’d never admit it. They bonded in Colton’s absence—late nights with a beer, swapping stories, sharing memories that hurt and healed in equal measure.
And Avalon…
Avalon found her place here.
She finally unpacked her suitcases. Her things mixed with mine.
She never let me sleep alone. She was attentive and gentle but never smothering.
She knew when I needed silence, when I needed space, when I needed to be held.
She knew when to let me sob into her arms and when to simply sit beside me and breathe.
She became my rock—steady, grounding, constant—and I became dependent on her in ways I never expected.
It was blissful, in some fucked-up way. Finding happiness with her while still grieving my sister. But I felt like I’d earned it. I could allow myself these selfish moments.
The floor creaked, and I turned from the window. Avalon stepped into the room with a small smile and a tray balanced in her arms. My stomach growled on cue, and I sat up.
“What’s this?” I pushed my hair aside and smiled up at her.
She set the tray on the bed and perched beside me. Fruit, scrambled eggs, toast, bacon—and a folded note.
“Did you make this?”
Avalon bit her lip, her smile widening. She nodded vigorously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Your mama is an excellent cook. She should write a cookbook.”
I laughed and picked up a slice of perfectly buttered toast. She watched me with bright, eager eyes.
“I only messed up the eggs once,” she said proudly. “She taught me this trick about separating the yolks from the whites and adding milk—try them, baby.”
She held out a forkful, her hand cupped beneath my chin as I leaned forward, laughing.
“Aren’t they perfect?”
I nodded. “They’re perfect. You are amazing.”
I found her fingers on the covers and laced mine through them. “Thank you for this. Thank you for everything.”
Her smile softened. “I love you, Clarke.”
“I love you.”
I leaned forward, and she met me halfway. Our mouths met in the middle—warm, slow, tender. I tasted apple butter on her lips.
After a moment, she pulled back, excitement fluttering through her hands. “Okay, now we have to get ready—Aunt Brie is coming from Mayfair with the donors. I think we’re going to have a really big turnout.”
Ah yes—the donors. Days after Melody passed, I reached out to Aubrielle Kennedy, asking for the contacts she’d used when she created her Happy Feet Dancing Academy. Together, we built a campaign—a nonprofit in my sister’s honor.
A camp for sick children like her. A place where they could spend their days under the Texas sun, feeding show ponies, escaping the starkness of hospital rooms. A place where they could transition peacefully.
A place where they could live.
Today was the day we finally began to bring that dream to life.
I nodded and yawned, stretching my arms before pulling Avalon into my chest. “Maybe we can wait a few more minutes,” I murmured. “I just want to be here. With you.”
Avalon giggled and curled into me. “Then here is where we’ll stay.”
I smiled softly, my hand tracing slow circles over her shoulder and back. “Here is where we’ll stay.”