Epilogue
epilogue
QUINN
Four Years Later
“You doing okay, Bug?” Declan asks, walking up behind me. He slips his arms around my waist, pulling me close, my back to his front.
I place my hands over his, leaning back into him, taking a deep breath. “I’m good,” I tell him.
“You sure?” He bends to kiss the skin where my shoulder and neck meet, holding his lips there.
“Yeah.” I turn into him, cuddling into his chest.
“We can cancel if you want. We don’t have to have everyone over today.”
“No, we can’t cancel. It’s tradition. It’s what Dad would want.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says softly.
He pulls me in close, and I can tell he’s looking at the portrait he painted for me that first Christmas we spent together. It’s hung on a wall in the front room that has turned into our little gallery, displaying the paintings Declan continues to create and the photographs I’ve continue to take. A gallery displaying the love we both found in our art again, a love we helped each other rediscover.
That might be a little cheesy, definitely something Declan would say, but no matter what, the portrait of Dad stands out—the way he always will in our lives, whether he’s with us today or not.
“I think he would just be happy we’ve carried on the traditions he started. Our Sunday morning breakfasts, attending the Fall Harvest Festival, Christmas morning presents with everyone together, big birthday celebrations.” Declan pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m not sure how he would feel about the big deal we make of today.”
Today marks four years since we lost Dad, and while the hurt is not as sharp, it’s still a hard day.
It was April when his health started to decline quickly. Declan and I moved into the house to help and support Max through the transition, but in the end, Caleb and I decided Max should live with him and Emily permanently after Dad’s passing.
While Dad made it through May, holding on long enough to meet his first grandchild, Fiona, he wasn’t with us when I married Declan in July. When he passed in June, it was in his home, surrounded by the family he brought together, both by blood and by choice. Those who loved him dearly surrounded him, knowing he felt that love till his last breath.
The thing I’ve learned about grief is you never really get over it. It accompanies you through life as an undercurrent. Some days, you’re able to continue with ease, and other days, it pulls you under and makes you pause.
Today is the latter; it always is.
The tradition Declan is referring to is the annual get-together we have on the day Dad passed. It’s not all that different from any other family gathering, except everyone is a little more somber than usual. From that viewpoint, I know Declan is right. Dad wouldn’t want us to spend the day sad, although I am sure he would understand. He’d want us to be happy.
The thing is, we are happy. The lives each of us has built are so much brighter than we thought possible. And Dad is such an essential part of that. We miss him every day, but he lives on in all of us.
I see him in the way Caleb and Emily are with their daughter, Fiona, and son, Maverick. I hear him in the way they laugh, the sound so similar to how Dad used to make all of us laugh. I see it in the way Ava now walks with a lightness she didn’t have when she first got to Ashford Falls. I hear him in the way Max talks to us, with a maturity well beyond his years. He is around me everywhere, in all the good and amazing things in my life.
“I want to do this,” I tell Declan, pulling away just enough to see his face. “We wouldn’t be where we are today without Dad, and I want to remember that.”
“Okay.” He bends to press a tender kiss to my lips, giving me exactly what I need in this moment. A reminder of the life I’ve built, a life I am so incredibly happy and proud of.
“Plus, we have exciting news to share with everyone.” I smile up at him and he can’t help but smile in return, his hand moving to my still flat stomach.
“Yeah, your dad would love this news.”
“Mama!” We both turn to the kitchen, finding our two-year-old son covered in strawberries from the snack Declan had been feeding him.
“What a mess!” I call as I make my way to him.
“Sowwy.” He smiles at me.
“It’s okay, baby,” I say, smoothing my hand through his hair.
Declan follows me into the kitchen, and together we work to clean our son and the mess he made at the counter. As I put Everett down on the floor to play for a few minutes before everyone gets here, Declan comes back to me, wrapping his arms around me again.
“What?” I ask, a smile on my face.
“Nothing. I’m just happy.” He smiles back.
“Me too. Happier than I thought possible.”
We’re just pulling away from each other when the front door opens, letting in this amazing family my dad helped bring into my life.
“Sorry! I know we’re a little early.” Emily follows behind Fiona. “The kids were too excited to sit at home any longer.”
“I’m not sorry. I’m ready for snacks!” Caleb says, tickling Maverick before putting him down to play with Fiona and Everett.
“Why is everything always about food with you?” Max asks, playfully shoving at Caleb as he enters.
Declan laughs. “I mean, food is one of the simplest pleasures in life. Why not be excited about it?”
“See! This is why we’re best friends. You just get me.” Caleb laughs, pulling Declan in for a quick hug.
“We’re here too!” Ava shouts, following behind everyone.
I look once more at the portrait of Dad, and I’m instantly overcome by a rush of warmth. This is exactly where we should be, celebrating the man who made it all possible.