22. Epilogue
Epilogue
Ava
Six months ago I was sitting in a press room trying very hard not to be noticed.
Now I am standing in the Natural History Museum after closing time, holding a paper cup of coffee while four five-year-old boys sit cross-legged at the foot of an Iguanodon skeleton like it is the most normal classroom in the world.
Life is strange.
Jack had somehow managed to hire part of the museum for a private family sleepover.
Apparently, football managers who keep teams in the Premier League earn access to odd privileges.
Alfie had invited three friends from school and their parents.
Sleeping bags are already lined up in bright colours between the exhibits.
Alfie’s arm has healed perfectly. No cast anymore. Just a faint scar at his hairline and a story he has no intention of ever retiring.
“…and then I saw my bones,” he is currently explaining.
“They showed me on the screen. Like a dinosaur but smaller.”
One of the boys looks impressed.
“Was it gross?”
“No,” Alfie says seriously. “It was science.”
The museum guide smiles. “X-rays are very useful for that. They help doctors see how bones heal. A bit like how we study fossils to understand dinosaurs.”
That immediately redirects Alfie.
“Do you think my bone looked like a dinosaur bone?”
“Not quite,” the guide says. “But they’re both very strong.”
“I have strong bones,” Alfie says, satisfied.
Jack is standing beside me, shoulder brushing mine, watching Alfie with that quiet focus he always has when he looks at him. Like the rest of the room fades slightly when his son is happy.
“So,” he murmurs, “worth the paperwork?”
“Yes,” I say. “Definitely worth the paperwork.”
He smiles faintly.
Around us the other parents hover near a small buffet table or wander between displays with the slightly dazed expressions of adults allowed into a museum after hours. There is something magical about it. The echo. The quiet. The sense of being somewhere normally closed.
My life has changed so much in six months it sometimes feels like I blinked and missed the transition.
The article about Jack turned out better than any of us expected. Andrea found the heart of it. Ben gave it the football spine. And Jack insisted on giving one last short interview before it went to print.
“If they’re going to write about me,” he had said, “they might as well get the current version.”
The current version, it turned out, included him calmly admitting he was ready to settle down and had no interest in living up to his old reputation anymore.
That caused chaos.
For about two weeks he was apparently Carlisle’s most eligible bachelor. The school gate suddenly had a noticeable increase in friendly conversations starting with How are you managing everything on your own?
Single mums definitely noticed him.
Jack dealt with it the way he deals with most things. Calmly. Practically. Without fuss.
“Come with me,” he had said one afternoon when I hesitated about going to pick Alfie up with him.
“I don’t want to make things awkward.”
“They’re only awkward if we pretend,” he had replied.
So I went.
He took my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kissed me without hesitation. Did the same the next day. And the next.
News, it turns out, becomes very boring when there is no scandal attached. A steady relationship apparently does not interest anyone for long.
Which suits me perfectly.
Jack nudges my shoulder.
“You’re thinking again.”
“I do that sometimes.”
“Dangerous hobby.”
I smile.
“I was just thinking how strange it is that this is my life now.”
He follows my gaze to Alfie, who is now arguing about whether a Triceratops could beat a T-Rex.
“I always hoped it might be,” he says quietly.
That still does something to me. The way he never makes it dramatic. Just certain.
Alfie suddenly spots us.
“Dad! Ava! Come here!”
We walk over together.
Alfie grabs my hand automatically while he explains something very important about herbivores. Jack stands on his other side. It feels so natural now I sometimes forget there was a time it wasn’t.
Later, when the sleeping bags are finally unrolled and the lights dim for the official “dinosaur night experience”, Alfie insists I sit between him and Jack.
At some point his running commentary about whether a Triceratops could defeat a T-Rex slows… then stops completely.
His head tips sideways against my shoulder.
Out.
Jack and I both freeze instinctively, like parents everywhere who know sleep is a fragile diplomatic achievement.
Jack carefully slides an arm around him and lowers him properly onto his sleeping bag. I tuck the blanket around his shoulders. Jack brushes his hair back with a gentleness that still gives me this warm feeling.
“Best party ever,” Alfie mumbles sleepily, clutching his dinosaur.
“Night, night,” I whisper.
Jack nods towards the exit.
“Come on.”
We walk quietly through the darkened halls, our footsteps echoing softly. The museum feels completely different at night. Bigger. Quieter. Like we’ve stepped into somewhere secret.
“Where are we going?” I whisper.
“You’ll see.”
We end up in the minerals gallery. Glass cases glowing softly under low lights. Crystals catching reflections like trapped stars.
He stops in front of a case filled with quartz and amethyst.
“I thought you’d like this bit,” he says. “Proofreaders seem like mineral people.”
I laugh softly. “Mineral people?”
“Organised. Precise. Appreciate structure.”
“That is the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He smiles.
“Give me a minute.”
Then he goes quiet.
Really quiet.
And I know this isn’t a joke anymore.
“I love you, Ava.”
It lands without fireworks. Without drama. Just simple and certain.
“I didn’t plan it,” he adds. “I wasn’t even looking for it. But somewhere between you correcting my grammar, teaching my son dinosaur facts, and showing up when I needed you most… I just knew.”
My throat tightens.
“I love how you see things other people miss,” he continues. “I love that you don’t pretend to be someone else. I love that Alfie trusts you. And I love that when things got hard you didn’t run.”
He takes my hands.
“And I don’t want this to be temporary. I don’t want this to be let’s see. I want you. All of you. As long as you’ll have me.”
For once, I don’t have a clever answer.
“I love you too,” I say.
It feels terrifying and obvious at the same time.
He exhales like he didn’t realise he was holding his breath. Then he pulls me into a kiss that is soft and sure and entirely unlike the frantic ones from the beginning.
This one feels like a promise.
When we finally walk back towards the dinosaurs, hand in hand, Alfie is still asleep. One arm wrapped around his stuffed toy.
Jack squeezes my fingers once.
I lie there between the two of them, in a museum full of things that have survived millions of years.
Some discoveries change what you know about the past.
Some change what you think the future might be.
And sometimes, if you’re very lucky, you find something that feels like it might last.
That’s us.