Epilogue
ARIA
One year later
My body reacts, and I’m pretty sure Penn is probably watching me.
That’s how it’s always been with him. Even in a yard full of people, even with everyone talking and laughing around us, I know when my husband’s eyes are on me.
I look up from the blanket spread across the grass, and sure enough, there he is, standing near the grill with Logan, Miller, Ozzy, Guy, and Zach, holding a bottle of water in one hand and watching me like I’m the only person here.
My heart does that same ridiculous thing it’s done since the day I met him.
I smile at him, and his face softens immediately.
God, I love that man.
“Aria,” Bree says from beside me, “he’s doing it again.”
I look at her. “Doing what?”
She nods toward Penn. “Staring at you like he’s two seconds away from walking over here and carrying you inside.”
Lindsey laughs from the other side of the blanket. “That’s not new.”
Skyler bounces Grace on her lap and grins. “Penn has always been obsessed with Aria.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “He is not obsessed.”
All three women look at me, and even Grace lets out a happy squeal like she agrees with them.
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Maybe a little.”
Across the yard, Penn’s mouth tips up like he knows exactly what we’re talking about, and he probably does. The man has always been too good at reading me.
A year ago, I thought we might not make it. There are still moments when I think about that time and my chest gets tight. We didn’t fix everything in one night, but we made a promise to each other that we would.
Penn came home in every way that mattered. He stopped shutting me out, let me be angry when I needed to be, held me when I cried, and gave me room to grieve the life I had pictured without ever making me feel guilty for wanting it.
And I held him while he grieved too.
We saw more doctors, and Penn went through so many tests, but he never complained once.
There were conversations about procedures and sperm retrieval and donor options.
There were pamphlets and appointments and long nights in bed where we talked about what family could look like for us.
Some nights I felt hopeful. Some nights Penn did.
Some nights neither of us did, and we just held on to each other until morning.
We talked about adoption too. At first, it was just one option among many.
I look down at the baby lying on the blanket in front of me, kicking his little legs like he’s the one hosting this whole family dinner.
My son. Our son. Michael Penn Brody.
He has chubby cheeks, dark hair, and a serious little frown when we don’t get his bottle ready fast enough. He’s six months old now, and every time I look at him, I still feel the same rush of love I felt the first day I held him.
He came to us on a Tuesday.
I was at work between patients when Penn called me. I knew something was wrong the second I heard his voice.
“Aria,” he said, and there was something in that one word that made me stop walking.
I asked, holding my breath, “What happened?”
“There’s a baby.”
My heart started pounding. “What do you mean?”
“He was left at the fire station. They brought him into the ER to be checked out.” Penn’s voice broke in a way I had only heard a few times in our marriage. “He’s healthy. Tiny, but healthy.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “Penn.”
“I looked at him, honey.” He took a shaky breath. “And I knew.”
I didn’t ask him to explain. I didn’t need to. “I’m coming,” I told him.
By the time I got to the NICU floor, Penn was standing outside the nursery window. He still had his white coat on, but he didn’t look like Dr. Brody in that moment. He looked like my husband.
The baby was in a bassinet on the other side of the glass, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, one tiny fist pressed against his cheek.
I walked up beside Penn, and he reached for my hand without looking away.
“That’s him,” he whispered.
I stared at that baby, and everything inside me went still because I knew too.
It wasn’t logical. Heck, it didn’t even make sense. But I knew that the little boy was meant to be ours.
The first time I held him, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Penn stood beside me with one hand on my back, and I felt him shaking.
“He needs us,” Penn whispered.
I looked down at the baby in my arms, and tears ran down my face. “Yeah,” I said. “We need him too.”
It wasn’t simple after that. There were calls and paperwork and interviews. There were home visits and temporary custody and nights where I was afraid that something might happen and someone would take him away.
Penn would find me in the nursery on those nights, sitting in the rocking chair with Michael asleep against my chest.
“He’s ours tonight,” he would say.
And that was how we survived it. We took it just one night at a time.
Then, three months ago, we stood in a courtroom with our family filling every seat behind us, and a judge said the words I had been holding my breath to hear.
Custody granted.
Penn and I both cried.
Now Michael is here, and his little hand wraps around my finger as he kicks both his feet.
Penn walks over toward us and crouches beside the blanket. “Hey, buddy.”
Michael’s whole face lights up.
Penn reaches for him, then pauses to look at me first. “Can I?”
I laugh. “Penn, he’s your son. You don’t have to ask permission to hold him.”
His eyes soften. “I know.”
But he still asks sometimes. I think part of him can’t believe this is real. Penn settles him against his chest like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Michael grabs a fistful of Penn’s shirt and immediately tries to put it in his mouth. Penn smiles down at him. “You hungry again?”
“He’s always hungry,” I say.
“Brody trait,” Logan calls from the grill.
Guy walks over and drops onto the grass beside me. “Not all Brodys.”
I give him a look. “You ate three burgers before anyone else had one.”
“That was protein.”
Ozzy snorts from his chair. “That was greed.”
Everyone laughs, and Michael startles for a second before settling against Penn again.
Penn’s hand covers the back of his little head, and my heart squeezes so hard it almost hurts.
This is my family. It’s not the one I pictured all those years ago, but it’s mine.
Sometimes things don’t happen the way we think they should, but this is exactly how it is meant to be.
Sometimes love doesn’t arrive the way you planned; sometimes it’s left at a fire station and carried into a hospital, where your husband takes one look at a baby boy and knows he was meant to be yours.
Penn looks up at me. “You okay?” he asks.
I smile because he still asks me that all the time.
And now, most of the time, I can answer honestly. “I’m happy.”
His eyes shine. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Michael makes a little sound between us, and Penn looks down at him. “And I love you, little man.”
One year ago, I thought we were breaking. Now we’re here and holding the little boy who found us right when we were ready to become a family.