Epilogue #2
“Everyone sit,” she said. “Before it gets cold.”
They claimed their usual seats—Miller and Astoria on one side, Nadia and Harper on the other—and for a moment, Astoria just looked at these women who had taken her in without hesitation, who had made space for her at their table and in their lives, who had shown her what family was supposed to look like.
“Are we saying grace?” Harper asked, shooting Nadia a pointed look.
“Do you want to say grace?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then we’re not saying grace.” Nadia passed the potatoes to Astoria. “Tell me about this art exhibition.”
Astoria explained while they filled their plates—the artist's vision, the installation pieces, the partnership with local environmental organizations.
Miller added details about the legal work Astoria's foundation had done to secure funding, and Harper asked surprisingly in-depth questions about the artist's process.
“I’d like to see it,” Nadia said when Astoria finished. “If you don't mind us being there, that is.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Astoria felt something warm expand in her chest. “I'd love for you to come. Both of you.”
“We’ll embarrass you,” Harper warned.
“You won’t.”
“We might ask the wrong people the wrong questions.”
“Then I’ll enjoy watching that.” Astoria met Harper’s eyes across the table. “Please come. It would mean a lot to me.”
Harper’s expression shifted, something soft breaking through the dry humor. “Alright, we’ll be there.”
The conversation flowed easily after that—work stories, neighborhood gossip, and Willow's latest crimes against property (she'd destroyed one of Miller's work heels, which Harper found unreasonably funny).
Astoria found herself laughing more than talking, watching the way Miller's face lit up when she told stories and the way Nadia and Harper traded looks that spoke entire silent conversations.
This was what she'd been missing her whole life.
“How’s the case going?” Nadia asked Miller. “The woman from last month?”
“Theresa?” Miller’s expression turned serious. “She got full custody. Her ex has supervised visitation only, and she’s filing for permanent orders next month.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It is.” Miller’s voice was quiet but fierce. “She was so scared when she came to me. Now she and her kids are safe. That’s what matters.”
Astoria reached under the table and found Miller's hand, then squeezed it once.
Miller had left Hartwell & Associates three years ago to start her own family law practice, focusing on survivors of domestic abuse.
It had been terrifying and exhilarating, and Astoria had watched her become more herself with every case she took.
“You’re doing important work,” Astoria said.
Miller turned to look at her. “So are you.”
“I’m building hotels.”
“You’re building sustainable communities and funding programs that support people.” Miller’s voice was firm. “Don’t diminish that.”
Harper made a sound that might have been agreement or indigestion. “You’re both doing fine. Can we eat dessert now?”
“We haven’t even finished dinner,” Nadia pointed out.
“I’m proposing we skip to the good part.”
“You made the dinner. You can’t skip your own dinner.”
“Watch me.”
They ate dessert on the back porch—apple pie, because some traditions were sacred—while the evening settled around them in shades of gold and purple. Willow chased something invisible through the yard, and fireflies began their slow drift through the growing dusk.
Astoria sat on the porch swing next to Miller, and Nadia and Harper occupied the wicker chairs, both of them watching the yard with contentment.
“So,” Nadia said, her voice casual but her eyes knowing. “Any news you want to share?”
Astoria and Miller exchanged a glance. They'd been talking about it for months—the possibility, the logistics, the terrifying leap into something bigger than just the two of them.
“Not yet,” Miller said delicately. “But maybe soon.”
Nadia’s face lit up. “Really?”
“Don’t pressure them,” Harper said immediately.
“I’m not pressuring! I’m enthusiastically inquiring.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s completely different.”
Astoria watched them bicker, affection clear in every word, and felt the last piece of her armor finally fall away.
She’d spent so many years believing she had to be perfect to be wanted.
These women taught her otherwise. They’d seen her at her worst—anxious, guarded, uncertain—and loved her anyway.
They'd made room for her at their table and in their hearts, and they'd never asked her to be anything other than exactly who she was.
The evening wound down slowly. They helped clean up, Nadia insisting it was no trouble while Harper grumbled about how many dishes three people could possibly dirty. Willow passed out on the living room rug, exhausted from her important work of existing vigorously.
When it was time to leave, Astoria found herself wrapped in Nadia’s arms again, held tight and secure.
“I’m proud of you,” Nadia said quietly. “I hope you know that.”
Astoria’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”
“We’ll see you Friday at the exhibition.”
“I’ll save you first-row seats.”
Harper hugged her too, brief and solid. “Stop worrying so much,” she said. “You're family. That's not changing.”
“I know,” Astoria said and felt it ring true.
They loaded a sleepy Willow into the car and pulled away from the house, both of them waving at the porch where Nadia and Harper stood together, backlit by the warm glow from inside. Miller reached across the console and slipped her hand in Astoria’s.
“They love you,” she said.
“I love them too.”
“They’re going to spoil our hypothetical children rotten.”
Astoria smiled, watching the neighborhood slide past. “I’m counting on it.”
The house was dark when they pulled into the driveway, just the porch light Miller had left on casting a warm glow across the front steps. Willow stirred in the back seat, yawned dramatically, and followed them inside with the resigned air of a dog who'd had a very long day.
“You want anything?” Miller asked, dropping her keys on the counter. “Maybe some tea?”
“Just you.” Astoria held out her hand. “Come outside with me.”
They walked through the living room and out onto the deck, the ocean spreading before them. The moon hung low over the water, illuminating the gentle ripples. Crickets sang in the darkness, and somewhere in the distance, an owl called out.
Miller pulled Astoria close, wrapping her arms around her from behind, and they stood there watching the waves break against the rocks below.
“Your moms are going to show up at the exhibition with a list of questions for every artist,” Astoria said.
“Harper will definitely corner someone about their creative process.”
“And Nadia will ask if they’ve eaten recently.”
Miller laughed softly. “Definitely.”
They fell into the comfortable silence shared by two people who didn’t need to fill every moment with words. Astoria leaned back against Miller’s chest, and Miller tightened her hold as she pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Do you ever think about it?” Astoria asked. “How different things could’ve turned out?”
“Sometimes.”
“We almost didn’t make it here.”
Miller turned Astoria in her arms, meeting her eyes in the moonlight. “But we did.”
“We did,” Astoria agreed softly.
“And I’m not going anywhere,” Miller said. “You know that, right?”
“I know.” Astoria’s smile was small but certain. “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Forever please?”
“Forever. Promise.”
Miller kissed her, tasting the salt air on her lips. When they broke apart, Astoria’s eyes were bright, reflecting the starlight.
“Think you can stand another fifty years of this?” Astoria asked.
“Of Sunday dinners and Willow stealing my socks?”
“And me.”
Miller cupped Astoria’s face, brushing her thumb across her cheekbone that wasn’t as sharp as five years ago. “Especially you.”
They stood there on the deck overlooking the ocean, the same ocean that had witnessed everything: the walls Astoria had built, the person Miller had discovered herself to be, the love they'd fought for and almost lost and chose again every single day.
Crickets sang and waves broke against the shore.
Above them, the stars twinkled in the velvet sky.
And in the house behind them, Willow was already snoring on the couch, no doubt dreaming of tomorrow's stolen socks, completely certain of her place in this home, this family, this life they'd built together.
“Come on,” Miller said, reaching for Astoria’s hand. “Let’s go to bed.”
They walked inside together, and Miller flipped off the porch light, leaving just the moonlight streaming through the windows. Astoria’s hand was warm and familiar in hers.
In the bedroom, they undressed without urgency, falling into bed together. Astoria tucked herself against Miller’s side, her breath evening out almost immediately. Miller lay awake a little longer, feeling the weight of Astoria’s arm across her waist.
Five years ago, she’d walked into a mediation expecting to meet a villain. Now, she got to spend the rest of her life with the woman of her dreams.
Miller pressed a kiss to Astoria’s hair and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, they’d wake up and do it all over again: the coffee, the dog, the ordinary magic of their shared life together.
She couldn’t wait.