Epilogue
Three weeks later the Austin morning light came in soft and gold through the bedroom curtains.
Zoey woke first, the way she always did now.
The heavy curve of her belly rested against the mattress, warm and familiar.
Somewhere under the stretched skin their daughter shifted, a slow roll that made her smile before her eyes even opened.
Cole’s arm was draped over her waist, his palm spread protectively across the highest point of the pregnancy the way it had been every night since the rewrite finished.
She turned carefully onto her back. The movement made her breasts shift inside the soft tank she slept in—heavier than they had been even a week ago, the way Emmi had promised.
Cole’s hand slid with her, thumb stroking absently over the tight skin.
He was still half-asleep, but his body already knew the shape of hers.
“Morning,” he murmured against the back of her neck, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.” Zoey reached back and found his hip, squeezing once.
The simple domestic contact still sent a quiet spark through her.
The old panic—the basement, the stream, the two boys who used to live here—existed somewhere far away, like a movie she had watched once and mostly forgotten.
It no longer hurt. It no longer felt real.
Cole’s hand drifted lower, cupping the soft weight of one breast through the thin fabric.
His thumb brushed the nipple and she exhaled, slow and pleased.
The body that no longer belonged to any version of Kai responded the way it always did now: nipples tightening, a low answering heat gathering between her legs despite the early hour.
“You’re supposed to be getting ready for that client call,” she teased, but she arched into his touch anyway.
“Client can wait five minutes.” His mouth found the side of her throat. “You’re more important.”
She laughed under her breath, the sound soft and genuinely fond.
The laugh belonged to Zoey—the graphic designer, the part-time barista, the woman six months pregnant with their daughter—and not to anyone else.
Cole’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts.
Two fingers found her already slick, stroking in lazy circles that made her hips roll against the mattress.
They didn’t rush.
He brought her off with the same careful, practiced attention he gave everything else in their new life—slow circles, the heel of his palm pressing just right against her clit, his other hand still cradling the heavy breast. When she came it was quiet and deep, her fingers digging into his forearm, the pregnant belly tightening for a long second before she melted back into the sheets with a soft, satisfied sound.
Cole pressed a kiss to her shoulder and sat up, already reaching for the clothes he would wear to the home office that used to be a teenage bedroom.
Zoey watched him go, one hand resting on the solid curve of her stomach, and felt nothing but the calm certainty that this was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Downstairs the coffee maker would already be timed to finish when she made it to the kitchen.
The design files for the new client would be waiting on the iMac.
Later they would drive to the obstetrician together, Cole’s hand on her thigh the entire way, both of them already arguing gently about nursery colors.
Somewhere very far away, two teenage boys had once lost a ranked game on Inferno and said things they shouldn’t have said to a girl on the other side of a screen.
That story was over.
This one had only just started.