Epilogue
Months Later
Sasha
He’s talking babies.
He’s dreaming of little blonde, olive-skinned toddlers, marching down the beach, looking up at us with my brown eyes.
Laughing his deep belly laugh.
He’s wanting a little girl. With dark hair like mine. And my fire within her.
And it’s not just one.
Or two.
Or three.
He wants a whole flock. A herd. Hell, a stampede!
He wants a big, vivacious family. Kids running underfoot, babies crying to be held and bounced and soothed. Toddlers tripping over toys strewn about a massive living room.
He wants a yard. With thick green grass. Soccer goals. Playsets and kiddie pools.
He wants to work from home. Teaching online. I didn’t even know he had his PhD in anatomy. He’d never even told me.
He wants a home where my mother’s recipes are cooked beside protein pancakes, where our kids learn baklava and burpees, and where my work matters as much as his.
He wants my parents to move to America. Live in a ranch-style home not far from ours.
And he wants it all as soon as possible.
Even if we got the go-ahead today, parenthood—and the move to the Hamlet—would still be down the road.
But I’ve just become Bachman. Just gotten used to the ways of the married women in the Village.
Gotten into a routine as a newlywed woman.
Working at the gym during the days, cooking half-decent meals at night.
Curling up at the end of a long day in front of a roaring fire, Carter holding me in his arms. My glass of wine in my hand.
Strong Girls Saturday now fills every bike in Studio B. Tiffany teaches the beginner class with me, and Maya just sent me a photo from her first day of college wearing the same running shoes I once pretended the program bought.
Barbells is officially ours now, too. Carter did not hand me half the gym as a wedding present. The partnership agreement credits the programs, staff development, and membership growth I have helped build over time. Seeing my name beside his on the ownership papers felt better than any diamond.
The Village has changed a little, too. After the mission, Bronson approved a narrow training path for qualified Bachman women who want to contribute beyond the home: intelligence, logistics, medical support, and other nonviolent operational roles, all with training and authorization.
No stowing away. No freelance heroics. Paige is already helping on intelligence work, and I am first in line for field-support certification.
I did not overturn generations of Bachman rules. I nudged one door open.
And there is an envelope tucked beneath the magnet on our refrigerator: my acceptance into the Master of Science in kinesiology program. The second application. The one I almost never sent.
Carter framed Brett’s old note and hung it above my desk. Keep your chin up, kiddo.
I intend to.
But… when he speaks of those babies. The way his eyes light up… it makes my cervix open. My ovaries drop eggs double time.
Growing up an only child in a village of big, loving Greek families, there’s a tug at my heart. A welling at the very center of my being, just thinking of children.
But it would mean moving to the Hamlet. With the other procreating Bachmans. Those who I’ve never met.
It would also mean Carter would be free of his duties to the Village.
He says, “Sasha, I knew I was meant to be Bachman. A part of the Village. To work beside my brother. But if I could stay in the family, and lose the crime ring element, I’d be all for it.
And if Bronson says no, I’ll continue to work just as hard as I do now—with the same dedication.
But since we’ve fallen even harder in love with one another, I can’t ignore my desire to start a family with you. Just imagine those brown-eyed babies.”
He’s giving me that look. I’m melting. I swear I’m ovulating.
I’m almost convinced, but my doubts creep up. “I know you would be a great dad, but do you really think I can be a good mother and still be all the other things I’m finally becoming?”
He says, “That is exactly the mother I want for our children. The woman who loves hard, works hard, keeps learning, and teaches girls they do not have to shrink to be loved. You’ll protect our kids like a tiger and teach them to build lives that belong to them.”
He takes my hand and asks permission to speak to Bronson on our behalf—not for a future Carter designed and handed to me, but for one we are choosing together.
And I say… yes. Not because Sasha has finally learned to disappear inside the Bachman life. Because I have finally learned I can belong without disappearing at all.
The End