Chapter 35
Rachel
Ican’t stop crying.
Not sad tears. Not scared tears. Just pure, overwhelming relief pouring out of me in ugly, gasping sobs that I can’t control, even though we’re still in the courthouse hallway and people are staring.
Jake’s arms are around me, and I’m soaking his shirt, and I don’t care. I won. I get to keep my son. Derek can’t take him away.
“You’re okay,” Jake keeps saying. “You’re okay. It’s over.”
Cole appears beside us, his hand on my back. Theo’s there too, and Marco, and they’re all just standing there letting me fall apart because they know I need to.
Patricia packs up her briefcase. “Rachel, we need to file the official custody order within forty-eight hours. I’ll handle the paperwork and send you copies. Derek’s visitation is contingent on him scheduling through me, so any communication goes through my office, not directly to you.”
I pull back from Jake enough to look at her. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You made it easy. You’re a good mother, and any judge with eyes could see it.” She shakes my hand. “Take care of yourself. And congratulations.”
She leaves, heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Where’s Tommy?” I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“Still at the park with Sophie.” Jake checks his phone. “She says he’s on his third round of feeding the ducks and asking when he can get a pet duck of his own.”
That makes me laugh through the tears. “Of course he is.”
“You want to go get him?” Cole asks quietly.
“Yeah. I really do.”
We walk out of the courthouse into afternoon sunshine that feels brighter than it should. The parking lot is half-empty, and the town square is visible across the street, with its benches and flower beds. Normal. Ordinary. Like the world didn’t just tilt back into place.
Jake drives me to the park. The men follow in their own vehicles.
I spot Dorothy on a bench near the park's pond, Tommy beside her with a bag of duck feed. He’s chattering away, wholly absorbed in the ducks fighting over breadcrumbs.
“Mama!” He sees me and drops the bag, sprinting across the grass.
I catch him and lift him, holding him so tight he squeaks. “Easy, Mama! You’re squishing me!”
“Sorry, baby. I just missed you.” I kiss his forehead, his cheeks, and his nose. “Did you have fun with Dorothy?”
“So much fun! We saw seven ducks and two geese, and one goose was mean, but Dorothy said he’s just protecting his family.” He wiggles down. “Can we come back tomorrow?”
“We can come back whenever you want.”
Dorothy approaches with her cane, moving slower than she used to but steady. The fire took something from her. Not her strength, but her ease. She’s more careful now, more aware of how fragile things can be.
“I take it the news is good?” she asks, eyes twinkling.
“Full custody. Derek gets supervised visits every other Saturday if he bothers to show up.”
“Which he won’t.” She pats my hand. “Men like that don’t actually want the responsibility. They want the control.”
“Thank you for being there. For testifying.”
“Nonsense. You’re family.” She looks at the men standing at a respectful distance. “All of you are.”
Tommy runs back to the ducks, and we stand there watching him. The late-afternoon sun catches in his hair, turning it almost golden. He’s happy. Safe. Mine.
“He’s going to have a good life,” Dorothy says quietly. “With all of you.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” She squeezes my hand once, then heads toward her car. “I’ll see you Sunday for dinner. Don’t forget it’s your turn to bring dessert.”
Three months later
The town gossip about us peaks around week two and dies down by week six.
At first, people stare when we go to the grocery store as a family unit.
Me, Tommy, and whichever combination of men happens to be free.
Mrs. Patterson at the bakery raises her eyebrows.
The church ladies whisper behind their hands.
Someone leaves a passive-aggressive note on our windshield about “setting a good example for children.”
But then they see Tommy.
They see him running between Cole and Theo at the park, laughing as they chase him.
They see Marco helping him with his backpack at school pickup.
They see all three men at his kindergarten play, sitting in the front row, cheering louder than anyone else when Tommy forgets his line and just waves at the audience instead.
They see a kid who’s thriving.
And slowly, grudgingly, the town adjusts.
We still get looks. Emma from the café—now working at the diner—hugs me every time I come in, but her boss watches us with pursed lips. The hardware store owner is friendly to the men but cool to me.
But more people smile than frown. More people say hello than turn away. And when Tommy runs up to Cole in the middle of Main Street, yelling “Dad!” at the top of his lungs, most people smile at the kid’s enthusiasm instead of clutching their pearls.
It’s not perfect. But it’s ours.
My event planning business is actually working. Dorothy was my first client—a birthday party for her eightieth that turned into the social event of the season. From there, word spread. I’ve done three weddings, five corporate events, and a surprise anniversary party that made the local paper.
The pay isn’t consistent yet, but it’s mine. I built it. And the men never once made me feel like I needed to rush or prove myself.
Tommy calls all three of them Dad now, but with qualifiers. “Dad Cole” when he needs someone steady. “Dad Theo” when he wants to play. “Dad Marco” when he has a question that needs a serious answer.
Jake’s back from Alaska, sunburned and full of stories about tracking endangered fish populations. He brings Tommy a stuffed salmon that makes absolutely no sense as a toy, but Tommy loves it anyway.
We're having dinner at the house—spaghetti and meatballs that Cole insisted on making from scratch, garlic bread that Theo nearly burned, and the salad Marco assembled without a single leaf out of place.
All of us crowded around the table: me, the three men, Jake, Dorothy, and Tommy chattering about his day at school between bites.
It's loud and chaotic and perfect.
I'm reaching for more garlic bread when Theo catches my eye across the table. He's got that look. The one that says he's planning something.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing." But he's grinning.
After dinner, Cole suggests a walk by the lake. It’s October now, the air crisp with the promise of winter, leaves turning gold and red on the trees.
“I’ll stay with Tommy,” Dorothy says immediately, which is suspicious because she usually insists on coming along.
Jake also volunteers to stay behind, which is even more suspicious.
“What’s going on?” I look between the men.
“Just a walk.” Marco hands me my jacket. “Trust us.”
We drive to the north shore, the quiet part where locals go when they want to avoid tourists.
The sun is setting, painting the lake in shades of orange and pink.
The exact spot where Theo and I first kissed months ago.
Where Cole and I came that afternoon after the fire, where Marco found me crying one night and just sat with me until I felt human again.
This is where we started, where we became something more than grief and rescue and complicated feelings.
We walk down to the water’s edge. The three of them exchange a look—some silent communication I can’t read.
Then they all drop to one knee.
My heart stops.
“We practiced this,” Theo says, pulling out a small box. “But I’m going to forget everything we planned because you’re crying already, and we haven’t even said anything yet.”
“I’m not crying.” I’m absolutely crying.
Cole opens his own box. “Rachel Morgan, you walked back into our lives six months ago carrying a kid and a duffel bag and more weight than anyone should have to carry alone.”
“We didn’t plan to fall for you,” Marco continues, his dark eyes serious. “We didn’t plan any of this. But here we are.”
“And we wouldn’t change a single thing,” Theo finishes. “Not the fires, not the complications, not Jake wanting to kill us for three solid weeks. Because all of it brought us here.”
Cole speaks again. “We can’t give you a traditional marriage. Can’t offer you a white dress and a church wedding and normal in-laws who bake casseroles.”
“What we can offer is three men who love you completely,” Marco says. “Who will show up every day. Who will raise Tommy like he is ours. Who will build this life with you however you want it to look.”
“So, Rachel Morgan,” Theo’s voice shakes slightly, “will you marry us? All three of us? Will you let us love you for the rest of our lives?”
They open their boxes simultaneously. Three rings, each different. A sapphire, an emerald, a ruby—all set in simple silver bands.
I can’t speak. Can’t do anything except stand there sobbing while the sunset turns the lake into liquid gold.
“You’re supposed to say yes,” Theo prompts gently. “Or no. But preferably yes.”
“Yes.” The word comes out strangled. “Yes, of course, yes.”
They slide the rings onto my finger—one on my ring finger, two on the fingers beside it. The metal is cool against my skin, solid and real.
Cole stands first, pulling me into his arms. I kiss him while the other two stand, and then I’m kissing Theo, then Marco, all of them are around me, and I’m laughing and crying and completely overwhelmed in the best possible way.
“We have a surprise,” Cole says after I’ve calmed down slightly.
“There’s more?”
“Look behind you.”
I turn. Dorothy is walking down the path from the parking lot, leaning on her cane. Jake’s beside her, carrying Tommy, who’s wearing a tiny suit jacket that’s absolutely ridiculous on a five-year-old.
“You all knew?” I look at the men.
“Everyone knew,” Theo admits. “We’re terrible at keeping secrets from people we love.”
Dorothy reaches us, slightly out of breath. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
Tommy scrambles out of Jake’s arms and runs to me. “Mama! Did they ask you? Did you say yes?”
“I said yes, baby.”