Epilogue
ANYA
Several months later…
I watch Vincent hold her—the smaller one, the one who came second and screaming. His hands look enormous against her tiny back, all that careful strength cradled around something so fragile it makes my chest tight.
He's not talking, just standing there by the window with this expression I've never seen before, like he's memorizing every detail of her face.
Eric has the other one—the boy who arrived first, quiet and alert, already looking around like he's taking inventory. Eric's grinning, of course, whispering something that makes Jones shake his head from where he sits beside my bed.
"What's he saying to him?" I ask, and my voice comes out hoarse from hours of pushing and yelling and finally, finally holding two perfect babies who somehow came from me.
"He's explaining the investment portfolio he's already set up." Jones brushes hair away from my forehead. "And the college fund. And why Duke is a better choice than Carolina for medical school."
"They're twenty minutes old."
"Eric doesn't believe in waiting."
I laugh, and it hurts a little because everything hurts right now, but the good kind of hurt that means something real happened. Something that changed everything.
Jones's thumb traces along my temple. "How are you feeling?"
Like I might float away if he stops touching me. Like I've been turned inside out and put back together wrong, except it's not wrong at all—it's exactly right in a way I never knew was possible.
"Tired," I say instead. "And like I can't believe they're ours."
"Believe it." His voice drops to that low, sure tone that always makes me pay attention. "They're ours. You're ours. We're keeping all of you."
The tears start again—they've been coming in waves since the moment I heard the first cry. Not sad tears, not worried tears. The kind that happen when your heart gets too full and has nowhere else to put the overflow.
"I used to think I had everything figured out," I whisper, watching Eric bend down to let Vincent see the baby's face better. "College, degree, business plan, neat little life all mapped out."
"You still have the business plan. We're just building it bigger now."
I look at him—this man I married along with his brothers, this family I fell into by accident and chose on purpose. His beard is scruffier than usual, his shirt wrinkled from sleeping in a chair all night, his eyes tired but bright.
"I love you," I tell him, because some things need to be said out loud. "I love all of you. I love that this is our family now."
He leans down and kisses my forehead, soft and warm and certain.
Vincent turns from the window, still holding our daughter, and meets my eyes. Eric shifts the baby in his arms and walks closer to the bed.
Our babies. Our family. Our impossible, perfect life that started with me storming into their office demanding money and ended with this—three rings on my fingers and two perfect little ones.
Eric reaches out with his free hand and touches the baby's tiny fist where it's curled against Vincent's chest.