Epilogue
Lainey
One Year Later
“Mrs. Jacks?”
I look up from where I'm arranging cookies on a platter to find Jenny Peterson hovering in the kitchen doorway. Six months have changed a lot, including Jenny's attitude toward our family.
“Come on in,” I say, sliding the plate toward her. “You can be my official taste tester.”
She grabs a cookie and perches on one of the bar stools, legs swinging. “Maddie said you're writing a book. About your love story.”
“Not exactly.” I wipe chocolate from my hands, smiling at the simple gold band on my finger. The spring time wedding had made Sarah fifty dollars richer and the whole town misty-eyed. “More like a children's book about blended families. About how love makes room for everyone.”
“Like how you didn't replace Maddie's mom, you just added more love?” Her face is serious, thoughtful. “That's what my mom says now. She's sorry about the pictures.”
“I know she is.” And she is – the transformation of Jo Peterson from our biggest critic to one of our strongest supporters has been something to witness. “Sometimes people just need time to understand.”
“Moooom!” Maddie's voice carries from upstairs. “Have you seen my sheet music? Piano recital's in an hour!”
“Check the garden room!” I call back. “You were practicing in there yesterday!”
The sound of running feet overhead makes Jenny giggle. Some things haven't changed – like Maddie's tendency to thunder through the house like a happy elephant.
“Found it!” More thundering, then Maddie appears, sheet music clutched triumphantly in her hand. “Jenny! You're early!”
“My mom said I could come help set up for the party.” Jenny takes another cookie. “Is your dad getting the cake?”
“And Grandma's bringing her famous punch.” Maddie steals a cookie of her own. “But that's not the only surprise.”
“Maddie.” I give her a warning look, but she's practically vibrating with excitement.
“What?” Jenny leans forward. “What surprise?”
Before I can stop her, Maddie blurts, “I'm getting a baby brother! Or sister. We don't know yet. But Mom's having a baby!”
Jenny's eyes go wide. “Really?”
I press a hand to my still-flat stomach, warmth spreading through me. We'd only told family so far, wanting to wait until after the first trimester to make it public. But Maddie's enthusiasm is impossible to contain – just like her father's was when I told them both last week.
“Really,” I confirm. “But maybe we keep that between us for now? Until after the recital at least?”
“I can keep a secret,” Jenny says solemnly. “Not like before. I'm different now.”
“We all are.” I reach out to smooth Maddie's perpetually messy hair. “That's what growing is about.”
The front door opens, and Steve's voice carries up from the entryway. “Anyone want to help with this cake?”
“I will!” both girls shout, racing down to meet him.
I follow more slowly, pausing at the top of the stairs to take in the scene below. Steve juggles the bakery box while two excited eight-year-olds pepper him with questions. Sunlight streams through the windows, catching his wedding ring as he gestures, making it flash gold.
“Everything okay?” he asks, spotting me on the stairs.
“Perfect.” I join them, accepting both the kiss he offers and the fact that Maddie has probably already told him that she spilled our secret. “Though we might need more cookies. Someone's been taste-testing.”
“I'll help make more!” Jenny volunteers. “My mom taught me her snickerdoodle recipe.”
“Speaking of your mom,” Steve says, “she offered to record the recital. Since we'll be too busy crying.”
“Dad!” Maddie groans. “You promised not to cry this time.”
“I promised to try.” He winks at me. “But when my talented daughter plays Claire de Lune while my beautiful wife accompanies her on violin? No guarantees.”
The piece had been Claire's favorite, something Margaret mentioned casually months ago. When Maddie decided to learn it, she asked if I would play with her – a gesture that meant more than any words could express.
“We should practice one more time,” Maddie decides, tugging on my hand. “Come on, Mom. Before everyone gets here.”
Mom. The word still sends a thrill through me, even now. She started using it about a month after the wedding, as naturally as breathing. When I asked her about it, she just shrugged and said, “Well, you are my mom now too. Like how Dad says love multiplies.”
In the garden room, now filled with thriving orchids that Margaret helped us nurture, Maddie settles at the piano while I take up my violin. The familiar notes fill the space, wrapping around us like a warm embrace.
Through the glass walls, I can see the mountains that first drew me back to Hope Peak. The same peaks that watched me fall in love, that witnessed our first kiss, that stood sentinel over our wedding in the snow.
“Ready?” Maddie asks, fingers poised over the keys.
“Ready,” I answer, and we begin to play.
The music rises, sweet and clear, a perfect blend of piano and violin. As we play, I catch glimpses of our life in the room around us – wedding photos on the walls, Maddie's art projects proudly displayed, the blanket from our fort night draped over a chair. And there, tucked among the orchids, the latest ultrasound photo that will soon have a twin when we announce the news to everyone.
Steve appears in the doorway with Jenny, both of them swaying slightly to the music. His hand rests absently on my violin case, where a worn help wanted notice is still tucked in the pocket. The paper that changed everything.
The final notes fade away, leaving us in comfortable silence.
“That was beautiful,” Jenny says softly. “Like a real love story.”
“It is a real love story.” Maddie closes the piano with careful fingers. “Just not the kind in books. Better.”
“Better how?” Jenny asks.
Maddie considers this, her face serious. “Because it's not finished yet. It keeps going and adding more love. Like with the baby.”
“Maddie!” Steve and I say together, but we're both laughing.
“Oops.” She grins, not sorry at all. “But it's true, right? The best stories never really end.”
I look at my family – my husband with joy dancing in his eyes, my sweet daughter who taught me that love transcends blood, even Jenny who reminds us that people can change and grow.
“No,” I agree, resting a hand on my stomach where our newest chapter grows. “The best ones just keep beginning.”
“Speaking of beginnings,” Steve says with a suspiciously innocent expression, “wait until you hear what your grandmother's planning for the baby shower...”
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