Epilogue
Freya
One year later, Alma took her first steps in the sand.
We’d been on the island for three days, preparing for the ceremony, and Alma had been crawling everywhere.
Getting into everything, covering herself in sand, shrieking with delight every time the waves touched her toes.
She was fearless, our daughter. Stubborn and determined and absolutely certain that the world existed for her personal entertainment.
She got that from her father.
The beach had been transformed. An arch of white flowers marked the spot where we’d stand, with chairs arranged in rows for the small group of people we’d actually wanted there.
Clara, of course, seated in the front row with tissues already in hand.
Beck and Scarlett, who’d become unexpected friends over the past year.
A few of Rex’s cousins who’d proven themselves worthy of invitation.
Even Louisa was there, looking smaller and softer than she had a year ago.
Things weren’t perfect between us, probably never would be, but they were better.
She’d kept her promise, apologizing publicly and privately, backing off when I asked for space, showing up when I needed support.
She’d held Alma for the first time with tears streaming down her face, and something had shifted between us that day.
Not forgiveness, exactly. But something close.
And in the second row, wearing a suit I was pretty sure Rex had bought him because my father hadn’t owned anything without holes in it for years, sat Earl Evans.
He was sober. A year now, the longest stretch since my mother died.
It had started the day Alma was born. Rex had called him from the hospital, handed me the phone, and I’d heard my father cry for the first time since Mom’s funeral.
He’d checked himself into a facility the next week.
Missed the first three months of his granddaughter’s life, but he’d done it right.
No half measures, no broken promises. Just the slow, painful work of becoming someone worth knowing again.
He caught my eye across the sand and raised his hand in a small wave. I waved back, my throat tight.
We weren’t okay, my father and I. Maybe we never would be completely, just like with Louisa.
He’d sold me to pay his debts, had drunk away the years when I’d needed him most, had left me alone to watch my mother die while he disappeared into a bottle.
Those wounds didn’t heal just because he’d gotten sober.
But he was trying. And I was learning that trying counted for something.
Rex stood at the altar, watching me walk toward him across the sand. He was barefoot, wearing white linen that made his gray eyes look almost silver in the tropical light. His hair was slightly too long, curling at his collar in a way that drove me crazy.
He looked exactly like the man I’d fallen in love with. And nothing like the man I’d married.
Alma was in my arms, dressed in a white sundress with a flower crown that kept sliding over one eye. She was squirming, trying to get down, reaching for the sand.
“Mama,” she said. “Down.”
“Not yet, baby girl. Just a few more minutes.”
“Down!”
I laughed and set her on the sand, holding her hands as she toddled the last few feet toward her father. She’d been cruising for weeks, holding onto furniture and taking tentative steps, but this was different. This was real walking, independent and determined.
“Alma,” Rex breathed, dropping to his knees. “Come on, baby. Come to Daddy.”
I let go of her hands.
She stood there for a moment, wobbling, uncertain. Then she took a step. And another. And another.
Rex caught her just before she face-planted into the sand, sweeping her up in his arms and spinning her around while she shrieked with laughter. The small crowd applauded, and I felt tears prick my eyes.
I glanced at my father. He was crying too, silently, his weathered hands gripping the program like a lifeline. This was the first time he’d seen Alma walk. The first time he’d been present for a milestone instead of hearing about it secondhand through a phone call he barely remembered.
Our daughter’s first steps. On a beach. Moments before we renewed our vows. With her grandfather watching, sober and present for the first time in years.
It was perfect.
“Your turn,” Rex said, handing Alma to Clara and reaching for my hands. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready for a year.”
The officiant, a local woman who’d been marrying couples on this group of islands for decades smiled at us both.
“We’re gathered here today to witness the renewal of vows between Rex and Freya Waller. They’ve asked to share their own words.” She nodded at Rex. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He took a deep breath. Then another. When he spoke, his voice was rough.
“Freya. A lifetime ago, I stood in front of you and made promises I didn’t understand. I said the words, but I didn’t know what they meant. I didn’t know what it meant to love someone more than myself. To choose them every day, not because it was easy, but because they were worth it.”
He squeezed my hands, and I saw tears gathering in his eyes.
“I know now. I know because you taught me. You showed me what it meant to be brave, to fight for what matters, to stand alone when no one stands with you. You showed me that love isn’t a feeling. It’s a choice, made over and over, even when it’s hard.”
His voice cracked.
“I promise to choose you. Every morning when I wake up and every night before I sleep. When things are good and when they’re terrible.
When you’re happy and when you’re sad and when you’re so angry at me you can barely speak.
” A watery laugh. “I promise to build more crooked cribs. To make you hot cocoa during thunderstorms. To watch every single Lord of the Rings movie, even the extended editions, as many times as you want.”
I laughed through my own tears.
“I promise to be the husband you deserve. The father Alma deserves. The man you always believed I could be, even when I didn’t believe it myself.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “I love you, Freya Waller. Today, tomorrow, and every day for the rest of our lives.”
He was crying openly now, tears streaming down his face, and he didn’t seem to care at all that half of Texas high society was watching.
I was going to give him so much grief about this later.
“Freya?” the officiant prompted gently.
I took a breath and looked at the man I’d married twice.
The man who’d broken my heart and put it back together.
The man who’d stood in front of his entire family and chosen me.
Who’d built furniture he had no business building and bought an island he hadn’t earned the right to give.
Who’d dropped to his knees in a ballroom to feel our daughter kick and didn’t care who was watching.
“Rex. When I married you the first time, I was scared. Scared of the future, scared of losing myself, scared that I’d made a terrible mistake.
” I squeezed his hands. “I was right to be scared. Because loving you was the biggest risk I’ve ever taken.
And for a while, it was the most painful thing I’d ever done. ”
His face flickered with old guilt, but I pressed on.
“But here’s the thing about risk. Sometimes it pays off.
Sometimes the thing you’re afraid of turns out to be the thing that saves you.
” I reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek.
“You saved me, Rex. Not by buying me things or fixing my problems or riding in like some knight in shining armor. You saved me by seeing me. Really seeing me, for the first time. And by becoming the kind of man who was worth being seen by.”
Now I was crying too. This was ridiculous. We were both going to be a mess in all the photos.
“I promise to keep seeing you. The scared kid who wanted to be a veterinarian. The man who tried so hard to be what everyone expected. The father who cries over first steps and builds crooked cribs and loves our daughter so fiercely it takes my breath away.”
Alma chose that moment to yell “Dada!” from Clara’s arms, and everyone laughed.
“I promise to love you,” I continued. “In all the messy, complicated, ridiculous ways that love requires. To fight with you and make up with you and choose you even when you drive me absolutely crazy. To build a life with you. A real life, not the one we stumbled into, but the one we’re creating together. ”
I pulled him closer, our foreheads almost touching.
“I love you, Rex Waller. You’re my home. You always have been. I just had to find my way back.”
He kissed me before the officiant could tell him to. I didn’t mind.
The small crowd cheered. Alma shrieked. Somewhere behind us, Clara was sobbing into her tissues.
When we finally broke apart, Rex was grinning through his tears.
“You know I’m going to hold the crying thing over your head forever,” I said.
“Worth it.”
“You cried in front of Beck Cooper.”
“Still worth it.”
“He’s never going to let you live it down.”
“Don’t care.” He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me. “I’ve got you. I’ve got Alma. I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted. If the price is a little teasing from Beck Cooper, I’ll take it.”
The reception was small and informal, exactly what we’d wanted. No seating charts, no five-course meals, no obligations. Just good food, good music, and the people we actually cared about.
I found my father standing at the edge of the water, his shoes in his hand, watching the waves roll in.
Alma was asleep in her portable crib under the tent, worn out from her big walking debut, and Rex was deep in conversation with Beck about some land deal I’d stopped pretending to understand months ago.
“Hey, Dad.”
He turned, and I saw the uncertainty in his eyes. The fear that I’d come over to tell him it was time to leave, that his presence was tolerated but not wanted.
“Freya.” He cleared his throat. “Beautiful ceremony. You look just like your mother did on our wedding day.”
“You always say that.”