Epilogue Two years later
Epilogue
Two years later
I used to dream about this exact moment—sitting in the makeup chair at a morning show studio, pretending not to sweat through my dress while a very nice woman named Clarissa dabs concealer under my eyes.
“You’re going to be great,” she says with the kind of confidence that suggests she says this to every nervous guest.
I smile, clutching my coffee a little tighter.
On the other side of the studio, a production assistant is chatting with Brooke Barrett—yes, the Brooke Barrett.
What started as a Bookstagram account has turned into a media empire.
Now she has a publishing imprint and her own weekly “BrookeClub” segment on Good Morning America.
When she posted about my second novel, I thought that was the highlight of my career.
But now she’s interviewing me about my first New York Times bestseller.
I still can’t believe any of this is real.
Five minutes to airtime.
I glance at my phone one last time before they mic me up. A new message lights up the screen.
Savannah: Saw the list. You did it! Couldn’t be happier for you.
I smile. We’ve seen each other a few times since everything fell apart—coffee once, a long walk another time. No big heart-to-heart, no dramatic apology. Just two people trying to find their way back to something that used to feel easy.
Writing about my relationship with Cole forced me to look at the past more closely than I wanted to—the way I shut down when my relationship felt like it was under a microscope, how I pulled away instead of letting my friends call me out, how I let jealousy creep in when I should’ve been celebrating their big moments.
Cole put Grace in an awful position, sure, but so did I.
I expected them to choose sides when maybe they didn’t even know how.
When Sav and I finally did talk about it, the words came easier than I thought they would.
She apologized for the ways she hadn’t shown up.
I apologized for making her feel like she had to.
It didn’t erase the hurt, but it reminded me that friendship—like love—takes work, and sometimes forgiveness is the only way forward.
I don’t know if we’ll ever be best friends again, but I’ve decided it’s not worth it to be bitter over the past. Some friendships bend. Some break. And some, if you’re lucky, can even be rebuilt.
Clarissa steps aside so I can apply my own lip gloss.
I stand and walk toward the mirror, and that’s when it hits me.
Two years ago, I stood in front of a different mirror on the day of my second book release, trying not to cry while applying my makeup with shaking hands.
I was newly heartbroken, freshly bobbed, and so anxious I could barely eat.
I told myself it was fine, that I could fake my way through a book launch and a breakup at the same time.
But the truth is I barely remember that night.
I try to block it out as much as I can, because I was grieving a version of my life that no longer existed.
Now, I look up at the reflection in front of me. My hair’s longer. Softer around the edges. The blunt breakup bob is gone. It’s grown out into something I didn’t rush or overthink. I look calm, maybe even confident. And there’s something else too, something I didn’t have two years ago—peace.
“Let’s roll, bestseller,” a voice says behind me.
Ross pokes his head into the green room with iced coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He’s already texting someone, probably my publisher, probably in all caps.
“You’re about to sell another ten thousand copies before lunch,” he adds, waving his phone like a trophy. “Smile for the people. Cry if you want. Tears test well.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Ross.”
He winks. “Break a leg. Then find me the second you’re off-air so I can tell you everything you did right and everything we’re posting.”
They call me to the stage, and I run a hand down the front of my midi dress, nerves buzzing beneath the fabric.
“Our guest this morning needs no introduction,” Brooke says to the camera.
“Her debut had us laughing through tears, her sophomore novel broke the internet as she tried to find love and inspiration through her own meet-cutes, and her latest book, If You Never Broke My Heart, debuted at number one on the New York Times list. Please welcome Ainsley Green.”
The applause rises again. I blink, a little stunned.
Brooke grins. “Okay, so first question: Why write the book that shattered our hearts and then somehow put them back together again?”
The audience laughs, and I lean into the mic. “Honestly? I didn’t set out to write something devastating. I just wanted to tell the truth. And at the time, the truth was that I was heartbroken.”
Brooke nods. “And you’ve said the story mirrors some of your real experiences. Is there more you want to share about that?”
I pause for a second. “I was dating someone for three years. I thought he was it for me. I thought he was the love of my life.” I look around the studio and see heads nodding.
“But when that relationship ended, I was confused and couldn’t wrap my mind around how our conversations went from Which apartment should we move into?
to I don’t think this is working anymore.
As you can imagine, I was gutted. I tried to turn to writing, because I thought that’s what I do best, but I stared at a blank document for months with no end in sight.
Until one day, a very close friend of mine helped me realize that some stories aren’t meant to have happily ever afters. ”
“Can you elaborate on that?” Brooke asks.
“Maybe the happy ending isn’t always about ending up with someone. Maybe the happy ending is about finding yourself, raising your standards, and never settling. Maybe it’s the realization that you get to decide what happens next and your story doesn’t have to read the same as everyone else’s.”
Brooke nods. “Even though I’m a firm believer in the happily ever after, I love this take.
I think a lot of us read romance to escape the stress and struggles of our everyday life, and we like knowing that it will end on a high note.
It’s something we can count on in an unpredictable world.
Stories like this are so important though, because so many of us have been in a relationship like this one, and we’ve all felt like if or when it ends, we won’t be okay. You’re showing us that it will be.”
I glance toward the wings. Lucas is standing off to the side, next to my parents.
My mom’s dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
My dad has one hand on her back and the other wrapped gently around a paper cup of coffee.
Elizabeth is sitting in the front row with Ben, their toddler asleep in her lap.
She catches my eye and raises one brow. Later, I know she’ll say something like, Okay fine, you’re the star of the family now, with a little smirk that softens into pride.
They’re all here. The people who taught me what love looks like—steady, patient, resilient.
I smile, turning back to the camera. “Exactly. Heartbreak like that is such a hard pill to swallow. It’s not talked about enough.
It’s brushed under the rug. It’s gotten over by getting under someone else.
It’s buried. I wanted to dig it up and put it on paper, because it’s not something we should be ashamed of.
Getting dumped shouldn’t be embarrassing.
A relationship ending is not the end of your life.
If anything, it’s the beginning of whatever comes next. ”
Brooke leans forward. “So what does come next for you?”
I grin. “A little rest and then a lot more love stories.”
She laughs. “We’ll take all of them.”
As the cameras fade to commercial, the studio erupts into applause again.
Lucas meets me just offstage and pulls me into a hug. He smells like cologne and coffee, and I melt into his chest.
“You killed it,” he says into my hair.
“I was shaking.”
“But you still looked hot doing it.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t let go.
He kisses my forehead and whispers, “You ready to go home, bestseller?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
I look back at the stage, at my family, at the life I’ve built from the ashes of one that didn’t work out. I think of the girl I was two years ago—brokenhearted, slightly buzzed, and hoping no one could see the cracks. She didn’t know that any of this was possible. But I do.
As we walk toward the exit hand in hand, I think about how different things could have been.
If Cole and I never broke up, I’d probably still be in a relationship that didn’t fit—too scared to start over, too tired to admit we weren’t right for each other.
I used to think soulmates were a myth. Something people made up to feel better about choosing someone.
But now I get it. A soulmate isn’t someone who completes you—it’s someone who reminds you who you are.
With Lucas, I never have to pretend. He loves me as I am—bad haircuts, travel anxiety, rom-com obsession and all.
That’s the thing about falling in love with your best friend.
They’ve seen the worst of you, the weird of you, the scared and messy and undone.
Yet they still choose you every single time.
In some strange poetic plot twist, the heartbreak I thought might ruin me ended up being the thing that set me free.
As it turns out, learning how to find love (or inspiration) wasn’t really about finding the perfect meet-cute.
It wasn’t about bumping carts at the grocery store or getting stuck on a Ferris wheel or chasing some grand cinematic moment.
It was about finding someone who makes even the most ordinary things feel extraordinary.
And most importantly it was about finding my way back to myself.
THE END.