Epilogue #3
Afterward, we lie tangled in moonlight, our breathing slowly returning to normal.
“Best wedding night ever,” Hugo murmurs against my hair.
“We’ve only had two.”
“Still counts.”
I laugh softly, shifting so I can see his face.
“Hugo.”
“Mmm?”
“I need to tell you a secret.”
He opens his eyes, suddenly alert. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s perfect.” I take his hand and place it on my stomach, flat still, but not for long. “Everything’s exactly right.”
He stares at me. At his hand on my belly. At my face.
“Are you…”
“Yes.”
“You’re…”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to…”
“Yes, Hugo. We’re having a baby.”
The silence stretches. His face cycles through expressions, shock, disbelief, wonder, joy, and then he’s crying, tears streaming down his face as he gathers me close.
“A baby,” he whispers. “We’re having a baby.”
“In about seven months, yes.”
“A baby.” He pulls back to look at me, and his smile is the brightest thing I’ve ever seen. “I’m going to be a father.”
“You’re going to be an amazing father.”
“I’m going to be there.” His voice cracks. “For everything. For every moment. I’m never going to miss a single…”
“I know.” I cup his face in my hands. “I know. That’s why I’m not scared.”
“You’re not scared?”
“Not anymore. Not with you.”
He kisses me, soft and sweet and full of promise, and his hand stays on my stomach like he’s already protecting what’s growing there.
“I love you,” he says. “Both of you. Already.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to say it every day. Multiple times a day. You’re going to get sick of hearing it.”
“I’ll never get sick of hearing it.”
“Good.” He pulls me closer. “Because I’m never going to stop saying it.”
I wake at dawn to find him already awake.
He’s propped on one elbow, watching me with an expression of such tender concentration that I would find it unnerving if I didn’t love him so much.
“Creepy,” I mumble, still half-asleep.
“Romantic,” he counters.
“Same thing.”
He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“How do you feel?”
“Tired. Happy. Possibly nauseous, but that might just be the remnants of champagne.”
“You shouldn’t have been drinking champagne.”
“It was one sip. For the toast.” I stretch, my body pleasantly sore from the night before. “Besides, I didn’t know for sure until last week. The test could have been wrong.”
“Was it wrong?”
“The three follow-up tests suggest otherwise.”
He grins, pulling me closer. “We’re having a baby.”
“You’ve said that approximately fifty times since I told you.”
“I’m going to say it fifty more. We’re having a baby.”
“Hugo…”
“A baby. A tiny human. Made from us.” His hand finds my stomach again, gentle and protective. “I’m never going to get tired of saying it.”
“You might when you’re changing diapers at 3 a.m.”
“I won’t.” He kisses my nose. “I’m going to love every minute of it. Even the disgusting minutes.”
“That’s very optimistic of you.”
“I’m a very optimistic man.” He shifts so we’re face to face, his eyes serious despite the smile. “I was thinking about the future.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably.” He takes a breath. “I want us to spend more time here. At the vineyard. Not permanently, I know you have the studio, and I still have work commitments, but regularly. Weekends, holidays, summers when the baby is older.”
“Why?”
“Because this place was good for us. It’s where we found each other again.
” He looks around the room, at the early light painting everything gold.
“And because I spent a lot of lonely summers here as a kid, and I don’t want our child to know that kind of loneliness.
I want them to associate this place with family.
With love. With parents who actually show up. ”
My eyes sting.
“That sounds perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I curl into his chest. “I’d like that. I’d like all of it.”
He holds me close, and we watch the sunrise together through the window, the vineyard turning gold, the valley coming alive, the world waking up to the first day of the rest of our lives.
“Lucille?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me another chance. For believing I could change. For not giving up on me even when I gave you every reason to.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “For this. All of this.”
I tilt my head up to look at him.
“Thank you for fighting for us.”
“I’ll never stop.”
“I know.” I smile. “That’s why it worked.”
The sun crests the hills, flooding the room with light, and I close my eyes and let myself feel it, the warmth on my skin, the steady beat of Hugo’s heart beneath my ear, the tiny flutter of possibility growing inside me.
We started as an arrangement. We became a disaster. We fell apart and put ourselves back together, piece by piece, stitch by stitch.
And now we’re this. A family. A future. A love story that almost wasn’t but somehow is.
“It’s enough,” I whisper. “All of it. It’s enough.”
Hugo’s arms tighten around me.
“It’s everything,” he agrees.
And it is.
It finally, beautifully, perfectly is.
THE END