Extended Epilogue
JACKSON
Ten years later…
The house sounds like controlled chaos at seven in the morning.
Jenna's alarm goes off three times before she turns it off, which means she's awake and choosing defiance.
James is in the shower, and the water pressure drops every time he moves, so the pipes make that rattling sound that means I need to call the plumber again.
Julian's door is still closed, but I can hear his radio—some pop song he's playing on repeat because he has no concept of variety.
The twins are downstairs. I know this because Jake is asking questions in that rapid-fire way four-year-olds do, and Jason is answering them incorrectly.
The restaurant opens tonight.
Fifteen years of work comes down to tonight. Three food trucks, countless farmers markets, two failed lease negotiations, and one health department inspection that nearly made her want to give up.
Jamie has been building toward this moment since before she knew what building toward something looked like.
I find her in our bedroom, standing in front of the full-length mirror we installed after Julian was born because she said she needed to see herself properly when she was getting dressed for the food truck runs.
She's wearing the black dress she bought for tonight. Simple lines, sleeveless, hits just below her knees. She looks good in it. She looked good in it when she tried it on at the store six weeks ago, and she looks good in it now.
But she's turning to the side, tugging at the fabric where it pulls across her hips.
Her hands smooth down her stomach, then move to her waist, measuring something only she can see. The expression on her face is the one I recognize—the slight frown, the critical assessment, the woman looking at herself and finding problems that don't exist.
She's gained weight since we met. Five pregnancies will do that. Fifteen years will do that. Her body is different now—fuller, softer, wider in places that used to be sharp angles. Her hips are rounder. Her breasts are heavier. There's a softness to her middle that wasn't there when she was twenty.
I fucking love all of it.
I come up behind her, slide my arms around her waist, rest my chin on the top of her head. She fits against me differently than she used to. Sturdier. More substantial. I don't have to calibrate my grip the way I used to.
"You look beautiful."
She makes a sound that's half laugh, half dismissal. I can see her roll her eyes in the mirror. "The dress doesn't fit right."
"The dress fits fine."
"Look at me, Jackson." She turns to the side again, and her hands go to the places where the fabric stretches. "I'm not twenty anymore."
"Good."
"That's not—" She stops, looks at me in the mirror. "You know what I mean."
"You're sexy."
She rolls her eyes again. "You have to say that."
I bite her shoulder.
"Your body housed five of my children," I say against her skin. "I like the extra weight. I don't worry about breaking you anymore."
She goes still in my arms. In the mirror, I watch her face change. The critical assessment fades, replaced by something warmer. She leans back against me, and her hands cover mine where they rest on her stomach.
"The restaurant opens in twelve hours," she says quietly.
"It does."
"I'm terrified."
"You'll be fine."
"What if nobody comes? What if the dessert burritos are stupid? What if?—"
I turn her around, kiss her quiet. She tastes like the coffee she's been sipping since five-thirty, and when she pulls back, she's smiling.
"Twelve hours," she says again.
"Twelve hours."
The house continues around us. Jenna finally gets up, her bedroom door slamming with teenage emphasis. James finishes his shower and the pipes stop rattling. Julian turns his music up, which means he's getting dressed and wants everyone to know he has questionable taste in pop music.
Downstairs, Jake asks why cereal has to be in a bowl, and Jason explains that bowls are for soup, which is technically incorrect but close enough for a four-year-old.
This is our life. This house, these children, this woman who spent fifteen years building something from nothing and is about to see it come together tonight.
People look at us and make assumptions. The age gap. The stepfather thing. The way we started. I've heard the whispers, seen the raised eyebrows, watched people do the math and decide we're worth their judgment.
We're consenting adults. Nobody was coerced. Nobody was trapped. Jamie chose me every day for fifteen years. I chose her back. Our house is full of love and laughter and the specific chaos that comes with five children who all have opinions and the lung capacity to share them.
We don't hurt anyone. We're just living our lives.
Thanks for reading!