Extended Epilogue
MAURA
Ten years later…
"I swear to God, Mark, if you tell me to breathe one more time, I'm going to dismantle your systems with my bare hands and sell the pieces on eBay."
The contraction peaks and I squeeze his hand hard enough that a normal person would yelp. Mark doesn't even blink. He just sits there beside the hospital bed, letting me crush his fingers while I ride out the wave of pain that comes with pushing baby number eight into the world.
"This eighth will be my last."
"Seven," he says when I can focus again. "Baby number seven."
"Twins count as two babies, genius."
His mouth twitches. "My mistake."
The next contraction hits before I can threaten him again, and this one means business.
Dr. Martinez tells me to push, and I do, because after six previous trips through this particular nightmare, I know the drill.
Push when they tell you to push, breathe when you can, and don't feel guilty about the creative things you say to your husband in between.
Fifteen minutes later, it's over. Two perfect, screaming babies who look exactly like their father—dark hair, serious expressions, hands that are already too big for their tiny bodies.
Mark holds both of them, one in each arm, and the sight of this massive, tattooed man cradling two newborns with the careful precision of someone handling explosives makes my chest tight in the best way.
"They're perfect," he says, and his voice has that rough edge it gets when he's trying not to let too much show.
I nod, exhausted and euphoric and suddenly aware of how I must look—sweaty, disheveled, wearing a hospital gown that's seen better days. My stomach is still rounded from pregnancy, soft in places that used to be firm. Stretch marks map stories across skin that once looked nothing like this.
"I'll never get it back," I say quietly. "The body you fell in love with."
Mark's gray eyes snap to mine, and I recognize the expression immediately. It's the same look he gets when someone tries to tell him his security systems aren't necessary or his employees don't need the benefits package he provides. The look of a man correcting a factual error.
"I didn't fall in love with your body, Maura. I fell in love with you."
His gaze drops to where I'm holding our daughter, then back to my face.
"And for the record, I like the extra curves. More to hold onto when I want to be rough with you without worrying you'll break."
Heat floods my cheeks despite the exhaustion, and I laugh—the kind that bubbles up without permission. Fifteen years married to this man, and he can still make me blush like I'm twenty-one and hearing something scandalous for the first time.
People talk about us. They always have. The age gap raises eyebrows at school functions.
The fact that he was technically my stepfather for about five minutes makes cocktail party conversations interesting.
The way we met—well, most people don't know the whole truth about that, but they sense something unconventional in the foundation.
Let them talk. We're two consenting adults who chose each other, fiercely and deliberately, every single day for fifteen years. Our children are safe and loved and growing up in a house where their parents worship each other. We're not hurting anyone.
I have better things to worry about than other people's opinions. Like raising eight kids with the man who once watched me through cameras because he couldn't help himself, and who still does it now because old habits die hard and honestly, I kind of like it.
Thanks for reading!