Epilogue
One Year Later
Wyatt
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting gold light across the cabin walls. Snow drifts steadily and softly outside the big windows, the kind that makes the whole world feel hushed and holy.
A pine tree stands in the corner — the first I’ve ever put up here—the scent of fresh spruce blends with cinnamon candles and wood smoke. I step back, studying the lights, and realize I hung every ornament crooked. But it doesn’t matter. Later, Gina will add her magic touch to the tree.
Behind me, Lucky is sprawled out in front of the fire, his paws twitching in some kind of cat dream. I smile down at him.
On the couch, Gina’s curled up under her favorite fur blanket, fast asleep. Her hair spills over the armrest in a tumble of red, her lips parted slightly in that peaceful way that still wrecks me every time I see it.
Tucked in the crook of her arm, our son, Henry, sleeps, too — one tiny fist wrapped around her finger, the other resting on his chest. He makes these soft little baby sounds that get me right in the chest.
My life is so complete that sometimes I don’t know what to do with all the joy.
A year ago, this cabin was just the place where I lived. Now, it’s a home filled with laughter and lullabies. It’s Gina humming in the kitchen, and Henry’s cries at two in the morning, and Lucky sulking because he’s no longer the center of the universe.
To me—it’s everything.
I walk over, kneel beside the couch, and brush a strand of hair from Gina’s cheek.
She stirs but doesn’t wake. Her face is peaceful, soft with sleep, and my heart does that thing it always does — beats with the strong, steady, quiet ache of gratitude that never goes away.
She’s my heart and my soul. And there isn’t a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for her.
“I still can’t believe you chose me,” I murmur.
Henry sighs, his tiny rosebud lips puckering, and I trace a finger down his cheek.
“You are the sun, the moon, and the stars all wrapped up in one,” I whisper to him. “I love you, little one.”
He doesn’t answer, of course, but I like to think he hears me anyway.
Outside, the snow falls, wrapping our world in white. Lucky used to say the mountains were heaven’s front porch. I think he was right. Because up here, with my family, it feels like heaven.
I press a kiss to Gina’s forehead, then one to Henry’s.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper. “Thank you for rescuing me.”