Epilogue – Lori
Two Years Later
The first frost of the season crunches beneath our boots as Arthur and I step onto the riverside trail. Dawn is just breaking over Whitetail Falls, painting the sky in watercolor stripes of pink and gold.
The air holds that special stillness that comes only with the first real cold—crisp, clean, making each breath visible in small clouds that dissipate in seconds.
Arthur's hand wraps around mine, his palm warm and familiar against my skin.
"Cold?" he asks, his voice low and quiet in the morning stillness.
I shake my head, smiling up at him. "Perfect, actually."
He squeezes my hand gently as we continue along the path. The Whitetail River flows beside us, unhurried and constant, its surface occasionally broken by swirling eddies around half-submerged rocks. Like us, it has its own rhythm, neither rushed nor stagnant, just moving steadily forward.
This walk has become our ritual over the past years. Nothing elaborate or planned, just something that happened naturally, like so many parts of the life we've built together.
Three mornings a week, before I head to the elementary school and Arthur goes to the station, we walk this path along the river. Sometimes we talk about important things; sometimes we hardly speak at all. Today feels like a talking day.
"I got a note from Ellie's mom yesterday," I tell him, watching a pair of ducks glide across the water. "Remember how Ellie couldn't read at the beginning of the year? She was so frustrated, kept saying she was stupid."
Arthur nods, his eyes warm with interest. "The one who hides behind her hair when you ask her questions?"
"That's her," I confirm, touched that he remembers these details about my students. "Well, she finished her first book yesterday. Her mom sent me this beautiful message about how Ellie read to her little brother last night, how she couldn't stop smiling."
"That's because of you," Arthur says, no doubt in his voice. "You saw what she needed."
I feel a flush of pride warm my cheeks despite the cold. "It wasn't just me. Her parents have been working with her every night. But still... it feels good, you know? To be part of that moment for her."
Arthur slows his pace to match mine as the path narrows, his shoulder brushing against mine. "You're good at seeing people," he says simply. "Not just what they show, but what they need."
Coming from anyone else, the observation might sound trite. From Arthur, with his quiet perceptiveness, it feels like truth.
I lean into him slightly, our steps falling into natural synchronization.
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, passing the old oak that marks the halfway point of our route.
The frost is heavier here where the sun hasn't reached, making the world look dusted with diamond powder.
Our breath mingles in the air between us, small clouds that appear and vanish, appear and vanish.
As we round the bend, our favorite spot comes into view—a small wooden platform that juts out slightly over the water, offering a perfect view downstream where the river widens before curving away toward town.
We call it "our spot," though it belongs to everyone in Whitetail Falls.
It's just that we seem to find ourselves here whenever one of us has something important to say.
We stop at the railing, and I lean forward, resting my forearms on the weathered wood. Arthur stands beside me, our shoulders touching, his presence solid and warm against the morning chill.
"I've been thinking about something," I say, watching a leaf spiral down to land on the river's surface. "The school district is partnering with Riverside University for their online master's program. They're offering partial scholarships for current teachers."
Arthur turns slightly toward me, giving me his full attention. "You thinking of applying?"
I nod, feeling the rightness of the idea settle more firmly now that I've spoken it aloud. "I'd still teach full-time. The courses are evenings and weekends. It would be a lot of work, but..." I pause, searching for the words.
"But it's something you want," Arthur finishes for me, not a question but a recognition.
"Yes," I admit, a small smile playing at my lips. "I keep thinking about how I almost gave up on teaching altogether. How close I came to letting someone else decide what I was capable of."
Arthur shifts, turning fully toward me now. He reaches up, his hand cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin with a tenderness that still sometimes catches me by surprise.
"You should do it," he says softly. "If it's what you want, I'm with you. Whatever you need… time, space, someone to quiz you for exams. I'm here."
I lean into his touch, feeling the simple certainty of his support.
Two years ago, such an unconditional response would have seemed impossible. I had become so accustomed to justifying my ambitions, to having my desires weighed against someone else's approval.
"It won't be easy," I warn, though I'm smiling as I say it.
"Neither was escaping a wedding in a snowstorm," he points out, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Or standing up to Richard when he came back that second time. Or rebuilding a life. You did all that. This is just the next step."
The river below us continues its unhurried journey, water flowing over rocks, around obstacles, always finding its path forward. I've come to recognize myself in that patient persistence, steadily moving toward where I'm meant to be.
Arthur draws me closer, his arm slipping around my waist. He presses a kiss to my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.
"Two years," he murmurs, "and I still choose you. Every day."
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Around us, frost glitters on bare branches and along the riverbank. The air is cold, but I'm warm exactly where I stand.
"I choose you too," I whisper. "Every day."
We stay there a moment longer, watching the river, standing in the quiet certainty of where we are and who we've become together.
Then, with the unspoken understanding that comes from two years of building this life, we turn and continue our walk, hand in hand, step by step, moving forward together.
Thank you for reading!