Epilogue
It’s been nine months since the fire. Nine months since I nearly lost the two people I love most in this world. Six months since I married Analyse and adopted Maya—since we finally made official what had already been written in our hearts.
And now we’re here.
It’s hard to believe that a year ago, Analyse asked me to be her fake boyfriend.
Just for show, just to keep Nico at bay.
At the time, I said yes without hesitation, not knowing that her request would change the entire course of my life.
That pretending to be hers would feel more real than anything I’d ever known.
That somewhere between the fake kisses and made-up stories, I’d fall harder than I ever thought possible—for both of them.
Back then, I didn’t realize how deeply I craved a family. How badly I wanted to be someone’s home. Analyse and Maya gave me that. They gave me purpose, laughter, and love. They gave me everything I needed.
The rental car is quiet, save for the soft hum of music playing from the speakers—something acoustic that Analyse picked, because she said the moment felt like it deserved something soft.
California sunlight streams through the windows, warming my forearms as I drive, one hand on the wheel, the other laced with hers.
Her fingers squeeze mine gently, and I glance over. She’s looking out the window, but I can tell she feels it too. The weight of it.
This trip wasn’t easy to agree to. I haven’t been back since the funeral. I couldn’t. Not when the pain still felt like it might choke me in my sleep. But it’s time. Analyse said as much one night, curled up beside me in bed, her hand on my chest.
“I think they’d be proud of you,” she whispered. “And I think they’d want to meet us. All of us.”
So I booked the flights. Took the time off. Packed Maya’s little pink suitcase and steeled myself for a moment I’d avoided for far too long.
Now, as the cemetery comes into view, my pulse kicks up. My chest tightens. But I keep driving. Because this time, I’m not alone.
We pull up the hill and park under the shade of a jacaranda tree, its purple blossoms scattered across the ground like confetti.
“Are we here, daddy?”
Daddy. I still haven’t gotten used to how easily it falls from her mouth, or how right it feels.
“We’re here, princesa,” I say, lifting her out of her booster seat and offering her my hand.
She grabs it and holds tight as we walk up the path, Analyse on my other side, her arm looped through mine. It doesn’t take long to find the headstones. I know exactly where they are. Even after all this time.
There’s a quiet kind of peace up here. Wind rustling the trees. Distant waves crashing below. The ocean was always my mom’s favorite.
I stop in front of the three gravestones—Mom, Dad, and Maribel. My baby sister. The ache in my chest roars to life. I kneel, my fingers brushing over the engraved letters.
“Hi,” I whisper. “It’s been a while.”
Analyse doesn’t say anything. Just kneels beside me, her hand on my back, grounding me. Maya settles on the grass and starts picking up a little bouquet of wildflowers.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I couldn’t…I wasn’t ready. But I am now. And I wanted to introduce you to someone.”
My voice shakes, but I push through.
“This is my wife. Analyse. She’s…God, she’s everything. She’s strong, brilliant, and fiery as hell, and she loves me like she sees every broken part and wants it anyway.”
Analyse lets out a soft laugh. “High praise, Rodriguez.”
I squeeze her hand.
“And this,” I say, turning to Maya. “Is Maya. My daughter. She’s seven and smarter than I ever was. She loves glitter, pancakes, and asking a million questions at bedtime.”
Maya beams and runs over, wildflowers in hand. “Hi, Grandma and Grandpa, and Titi Maribel. I brought you these.”
She lays the flowers across the headstones, one for each, then settles between me and Analyse.
“I used to not have a daddy,” she says solemnly. “But now I do.”
My throat tightens. I don’t know how I got this lucky.
Analyse leans into me slightly, her voice soft. “They’d be so proud of you, Mateo.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. And then, like she planned it perfectly—which, knowing her, she probably did—she shifts, pulling a small envelope from her purse.
“I, uh, have something too,” she says, cheeks a little flushed.
I look at her, confused. “What’s that?”
She hands it to me without a word. I open it slowly, careful not to crease whatever’s inside—and stop cold.
My breath catches in my throat. Inside is a black-and-white ultrasound printout.
Grainy and small, but unmistakable. For a second, I just stare.
My mind blank, the world narrowing to the tiny curve of life on that paper.
A flicker of something brand new. Hope. A heartbeat. A beginning.
“Are you serious?” I whisper, voice cracked and hoarse.
Analyse nods, her eyes glistening. “Surprise, Papa.”
She laughs softly, a little breathless. “I didn’t think it’d happen so fast. We only took out my IUD a month ago—I wasn’t expecting this yet. But…here we are.”
I blink down at the print again. My hands are shaking. There are no words for this kind of feeling, the way joy can barrel through you like a freight train and still feel like flying.
Maya’s eyes go wide as she peeks at the photo. “Is that a baby?”
Analyse smiles at her. “Yep. In my belly.”
Maya squeals and claps her hands. “I’m gonna be a big sister!”
I let out a shaky laugh, tears slipping down my cheeks before I can stop them. I wrap my arms around them both, pulling them into me, kissing the top of Maya’s head, then cupping Analyse’s face in my hands as I kiss her.
“You have no idea how happy I am,” I murmur, forehead pressed to hers. “No idea.”
“I think I do,” she says, voice thick with emotion.
I stare at her, completely undone. “You’ve already given me the world, and somehow…you keep finding ways to make it more beautiful. I don’t know how I got this lucky.”
Analyse leans in, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You didn’t get lucky, Mateo. This is what you were always meant for.”
I lean back and turn toward the headstones again, lifting the ultrasound so they can see.
“This is your grandchild,” I say. “And I’m gonna do this right. I swear to protect them. I’ll protect them with everything I’ve got.”
We sit there for a while—just the three of us, and the memory of three more.
The air is quiet except for the rustle of wind through the trees and the distant sound of birds settling in for the night.
The cemetery is bathed in golden light, the sun beginning its slow descent behind the California hills, casting long shadows across the grass.
Maya curls into my side, her little hand slipping into mine.
Analyse leans her head on my shoulder, the curve of her body fitting perfectly against me, like we were always meant to end up here—like everything before this, the heartache, the fear, the waiting, was just a winding road that led us to this peace.
I glance down at the headstones, and for the first time in years, the weight in my chest isn’t unbearable.
It’s still there, but it’s quieter now. Softer.
I feel them here. I feel their love in the breeze, their presence in the way the sunlight catches Maya’s hair, in the way Analyse squeezes my hand without needing to say a word.
We stay there until the sky turns lavender and the stars start to peek through. Until the chill of the night nudges us back to the car. But even as we walk away, I don’t feel like I’m leaving them behind.
They’re with me—in every breath, every heartbeat, every step forward. And as I look at my wife, my daughter, and the tiny flicker of life we’ve yet to meet, I know one thing for sure. This is home. This is forever. This is the happiest ending I never saw coming.
The End.