Epilogue - Rhea
This is my life. For real.
And my heart is full.
Esme turned three last month.
Spencer and I have been together for over a year now. And it’s been a whirlwind.
We just wrapped up six months in France—a little family experiment to see if la vie en rose- or seeing life through rose-colored glasses - suited us. And in so many ways, it did.
The food. The language. The slower pace. The three of us walking cobblestone streets, arguing about cheese and bedtime. But—who’d have guessed?—it’s Italy that stole our hearts.
So next week, we make it official. We’re moving there. At least for a while.
At least long enough to be married by the Adriatic Sea, with a small group of our closest friends and family. And dancing of course, on a moonlit terrace overlooking the water.
We don’t know the date, yet. But we know it won’t be long.
It turns out, Spencer and I don’t need a plan carved in stone. Just an anchor, a rhythm, and the space to figure things out together.
Esme is thriving—funny, fearless, constantly narrating her life in a blend of English, French, and toddler Italian. She bosses us both around. We let her.
Spencer’s taken a huge step back from work to be home with her as much as possible. Turns out, he loves it.
He’s the dad who reads books aloud with different voices, who makes heart-shaped pancakes just because it’s Tuesday, plans hikes with picnic lunches, creates scavenger hunts, and plays Candy Land a dozen times a week.
He’s even learned to do a ponytail—badly, but with pride.
Meanwhile, I’ve stepped into something I never imagined: directing a global literacy initiative (yes, with a nice boost of funding from Pixel and Paper, thank you very much). It’s fast, fulfilling, and sometimes chaotic—but I’m not doing it alone.
We’re a team now. Even when it’s hard.
We don’t always agree. And we come from different worlds. He’s never done his own laundry before. I don’t want a housekeeper or a cook as part of the family. I just want us.
Spencer wants four kids. Four.
I might be okay with just one.
But we’re working on a compromise somewhere in between. I’m not ready yet. I want him to have time to make up for what he missed with Esme. And I need time to find my footing in this new life—new roles, new rhythms, new everything.
We’ve agreed that when Esme turns four, we’ll officially start working on number two and take it from there. That gives us a little more time to breathe. To settle. To be.
Tonight is the Pixel & Paper Foundation Gala, and Spencer will take the stage to announce a new endowment in honor of rural libraries like ours—guaranteeing Maplewick ten years of sustainable funding and opening the door for other communities to apply for renewable grants.
He made it happen, but insists it’s my story.
He’s still good at that—shining the light exactly where it belongs. Together we’ve decided it will be named, “The Esme Chapter Fund.”
Gina sent over a rack of gowns this morning—nothing thrifted, nothing under four digits. I stare at them, overwhelmed, until Spencer steps into the room, takes one look, and says, “You’ll be beautiful in any of them. But my favorite? The one you wore the night I met you.”
Then he winks. “Not just because it was easy to slip you out of it… But yeah. That helped.”
I laugh. Shake my head. Kiss him, long and slow. And then I head into the closet and pull out that very dress.
Yes, I kept it..
“Well,” I say, holding it up, “maybe I’ll give you a private showing later.”
His smile is slow and sure, and for a second, I think. I'm so glad my original dreams were deferred—just long enough to make this life possible.
This isn’t the life I planned.
It’s so much better.