Epilogue
Darhg
I angle Minnie's stroller through a knot of neighbors, one hand on the handle, the other steadying a plate of shortbread.
Minnie kicks her tiny legs, tusklets nubbing her gumline as she gurgles at the splash of color covering the gallery walls.
Her amber eyes track the movement of people with fascination, tiny fists waving at nothing and everything.
The Saltford Bay Community Arts Center Gallery hums with quiet pride tonight.
White walls showcase student work under clipped spotlights, each piece marked with a small placard that lists the name of the artist and the title of the painting.
The polished wood floor creaks softly under the weight of neighbors and classmates who've come to celebrate the end-of-term show, their winter coats carrying the faint scent of pine and wool from the blue dusk settling outside.
Rona stands beneath her work, luminous studies of the bay rendered in watercolors that seem to hold actual light. A soft portrait of Minnie asleep with a fist tucked to her cheek draws admiring murmurs from passersby. Two small self-portraits complete her section.
She smiles brightly as she notices us, her entire face lighting up.
"You look brilliant," I tell her, meaning every word.
She laughs, that warm sound that still makes something flip in my chest after a year of marriage. "It's just a class show, not the Met."
Elga bumps my shoulder with enough force to rattle my teeth, baby Minnie squealing with delight at the sudden movement.
"It is absolutely a big deal," the ogre woman declares, her voice carrying across half the gallery. "Our Rona's first official show as an artist."
Jennifer appears at her mate's elbow, honey-brown hair catching the gallery lights as she adjusts the blanket around Minnie's legs. "We've been bragging about you all week," she adds with a grin. "Mrs. Patterson bought three of your bay studies before they were even hung."
"But Minnie’s portrait is all ours, of course," Elga continues, reaching into the stroller to tickle the baby's chin. "We’re going to put it right in the living room, so everyone who comes into the house will see it."
Rona leans down to coo at Minnie, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.
"I'll invoice you for modeling fees, little one. You're going to be expensive."
The easy warmth between my mate and our friends still amazes me sometimes. Watching Rona bloom into herself—confident artist, devoted godmother, fierce protector of the people she loves—has been like witnessing a miracle unfold one day at a time.
Classmates drift past to offer congratulations, and Professor Martinez pauses to praise Rona's "eye for warmth and truth in ordinary moments.
" I mention the new easel and supply storage I installed in our converted studio at home, earning me one of those soft smiles that makes me want to build her a dozen more.
"Thank you for the shortbread," Rona tells Elga, gesturing toward the folding table where paper cups of cider and lemon water surround a tray of Elga's legendary cookies. "And Jennifer, thank you for helping spread the word. I couldn't have done this without both of you."
"When is your mother arriving?" I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer from the way Rona's shoulders tense slightly.
"Tomorrow, for the final day," she says, her voice carefully neutral. "There's going to be a press conference about supporting public arts funding."
Elga and Jennifer trade meaningful looks that communicate volumes without words. Rona catches it and shrugs.
"I know there will be cameras and the press," she continues. "But what matters is that she's showing up."
And it’s true. Senator Quinn's relationship with her daughter has evolved slowly over the past year. She has put honest effort into connecting with Rona. It's not perfect, but it's real in a way their old dynamic never was.
I pull Rona into a long, quiet hug near her portrait of Minnie, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair mixed with faint traces of paint. She melts against me with the kind of trust that still humbles me.
"I should probably cancel my trip to Malcolm's headquarters," I murmur against her temple. "Stay here for the press event."
She pulls back to meet my eyes, her hands warm on my chest. "Don't you dare. I'll be fine—I've got the cabin, my classes, these two troublemakers, and a baby to cuddle."
As if summoned by her words, Minnie lets out a delighted squeal and shoves her entire fist in her mouth.
"We’ll take care of Rona," Elga declares. "You go on and meet with your important client. Don’t worry."
Rona threads her fingers through mine. I’m content and grounded in a way that makes my chest tight with gratitude.
I take in the room—friends, warmth, the woman I love grounded in her art and surrounded by community.
Elga's laughter booms across the space as she argues with Professor Martinez.
Jennifer rocks Minnie's stroller with one hand while discussing the spring horticultural exhibition with another student.
Rona leans into my side, her thumb tracing gentle circles on my knuckles where our hands remain joined.
This is everything, I think simply and certainly. Everything I never dared to hope for when I was a broken man, convinced I was too dangerous for happiness.
I catch Elga's eye across the room, and she gives me an encouraging nod, her burnt-orange eyes twinkling with mischief. My heart pounds as I reach into my jacket pocket, fingers closing around a small velvet box. I've been carrying it for weeks, waiting for tonight after Rona’s art show.
"Rona," I say quietly, my voice rougher than intended.
She looks up at me with those pale-blue eyes that contain my entire world, and I slowly lower myself to one knee beside her. The gallery grows quiet around us, conversations fading as people notice what's happening.
"I love you," I tell her, my voice steady despite the thundering of my heart. "You are my mate, my home, my everything. Will you marry me?"
Her gasp echoes through the suddenly silent gallery as I open the box to reveal the simple solitaire set in white gold which catches the light. It’s not much, but I saved for the entire year to buy it and I hope she will find it worthy of her.
"Yes," she breathes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she drops to her knees to meet me. "Yes, of course, yes."
The gallery erupts in cheers as I slide the ring onto her finger, but all I can see is her radiant smile as she throws her arms around my neck.
Perfect, I think, holding my future wife against my chest while our friends celebrate around us.
Absolutely perfect.
***
THE END