Epilogue #2
When the presenter stepped up to the mic and the screen behind them lit up with the words Best New Artist, Frankie stilled.
Her name was one of five.
She glanced down at her lap where the crumpled cocktail napkin sat folded in her hand. Willa had made her write something. Of course she had. She always made her write the hard things.
“And the Grammy goes to…”
Frankie held her breath.
Willa leaned in. Pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I love you, Mae.”
The name was called.
Frankie Monroe.
The room exploded.
Frankie’s mouth fell open. Her eyes filled instantly.
She didn’t move—not for a second. Just stared. Shocked. Shaking.
And then Willa was pulling her in. Wrapping her in both arms. Laughing and crying all at once.
“I knew it, baby,” she whispered. “I knew it. I’m so proud of you. You’re everything.”
Frankie buried her face in her neck for half a second, sobbed once into her skin, and then stood—legs unsteady, mouth open in disbelief.
The spotlight found her as she walked to the stage. Applause rained down. Cheering from every corner. Her peers on their feet.
The moment felt impossibly big.
And somehow… still hers.
She reached the mic and stood there, dazed and flushed and glowing.
Then she held up the napkin.
“Well,” she laughed, voice already cracking, “my girlfriend told me in the car to always write the speech. So…”
She held it up higher, eyes watery, heart thundering.
“I wrote it in the car because she made me. And I’m thankful. Thank you, baby.”
The crowd laughed softly—warmed by her honesty.
Frankie sniffed, wiping at her eye. “I’ll still fuck this up and forget someone but here we go…”
She steadied herself. Looked out over the crowd.
“First—my fans. Everyone who ever made me feel like too much… thank you. I made it anyway.”
The applause came instantly, loud and fierce.
“I’d like to thank the Academy. This is… wow. Just—thank you. I never thought I’d be up here.”
She blinked fast, fighting through the emotion.
“To my team—Kara Daniels, Tevin Rivers, the band—Juno, Malik, Ember. I couldn’t do this without any of you. You keep me sharp, grounded, loved. You make me better. I love you so much.”
She took another breath.
“My family—Mom. Grace. I love you. It’s been a hard fucking year, but we’re here. We’re doing it. I couldn’t have made it without you.”
Her voice softened, the next words catching.
“My Mimi… this is for her. I miss you every day. I hope you’re watching. I hope you’re smiling. I love you so much.”
She looked down for a second, the tears now freely falling, glittering under the lights. The crowd hushed with her, holding the moment.
“And lastly… to my amazing, wonderful, brilliant other half…” She laughed through the tears. “Willa.”
The camera cut to Willa in the audience—eyes wet, hands clasped over her mouth, shaking her head with a smile so full it could split her wide open.
“I love you so much. You make me better—a better songwriter, a better person. Just… better. Thank you for loving me. For putting up with me. For seeing me.”
Frankie paused, breath shuddering.
“And last thing—my new album ‘Will’—will be out February 13th. It’s my whole heart. It’s for my girl. And I hope you love it as much as I do.”
She looked back out at the crowd, mascara smudged, suit sparkling, heart on full display.
“Thank you again. So much. I love you all.”
The music swelled.
And Frankie stepped away from the mic—Grammy in hand, tears on her cheeks, and the kind of love that didn’t need to be explained.
Because everyone in that room had seen it.
They had felt it.
* * *
The Grammy sat on the nightstand in the hotel.
It looked almost out of place there—between Willa’s book and Frankie’s half-drunk LaCroix—but Frankie liked it that way. Like it belonged in their life, not on a pedestal.
The room was dim and warm, the lights low, curtains half-drawn to show the glittering city outside. Willa was curled up in the middle of the king bed in nothing but one of Frankie’s oversized band tees. Legs bare, hair loose, that soft look on her face that still knocked the wind out of Frankie.
Frankie came out of the bathroom, curls pinned back, face bare, in a tank top and boxers. She looked like herself again.
Willa looked up from the bed, eyes full of something soft and golden. “Hey, Grammy winner.”
Frankie groaned, flopping onto the bed beside her. “You’re never gonna stop saying that, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” Willa said, crawling into her lap like she belonged there. “You made me cry on national television. I get to milk it.”
Frankie caught her waist, pulling her close. “You made me write a speech on a cocktail napkin.”
“And it was perfect,” Willa said, grinning.
They kissed slowly and familiar and a little tired around the edges.
The adrenaline had finally faded. The noise had gone quiet. The afterparties were over, the makeup wiped away. All that was left was this.
Frankie sighed as Willa settled against her chest, hand resting over her heart.
“I still don’t believe it,” Frankie murmured.
Willa tilted her chin up. “You better. I saw you up there. You didn’t just win—you belonged.”
Frankie swallowed. “It’s just… a lot.”
“I know.”
They lay there in silence for a moment. The city buzzed below. Somewhere, people were still out celebrating. But up here, it felt like the world had stopped spinning for a moment, just to let them catch their breath.
“I missed her tonight,” Frankie said softly.
Willa didn’t have to ask who. She just nodded. “She would’ve been so proud of you, Mae.”
Frankie blinked back the burn in her eyes. “I felt her.”
“She was there.”
Another beat.
Then Willa nudged her gently. “Hey. Look at me.”
Frankie did.
“You did it, Mae. Everything you dreamed of. And you did it your way. No compromises. No watering it down. Just… you. And tonight, they saw you. They loved you.”
Frankie’s eyes filled again. “I’m gonna cry.”
“You can cry, babe,” Willa said, pressing her lips to her forehead. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Frankie kissed her again long and slow, like the only thing that mattered was this exact moment.
“Thank you,” she whispered when they pulled apart. “For everything. For coming on the road. For loving me through the messy parts. For making me better.”
Willa smiled, blinking back tears of her own. “Thank you for letting me love you.”
Frankie tucked her in tighter; her arms wrapped all the way around her. “I’m never letting go.”
“You better not.”
They lay like that for a long time, tangled together in the quiet.
Eventually, Willa’s breathing evened out, and Frankie watched her fall asleep—face relaxed, lips parted, lashes brushing her cheeks. The woman she’d fallen for on the road. The woman she’d write a hundred more songs for.
Frankie glanced once at the Grammy on the nightstand.
Then she closed her eyes and held the real prize close.
Because this—this right here?
This was the dream.
And she was already living it.
* * *
The end.