EPILOGUE
Michelle
We’d planned on a bigger house. Something grand, with a pool and a magazine-worthy kitchen. We spent months looking, but nothing ever clicked for Dean. And if I’m being honest, nothing felt quite right to me either.
We certainly weren’t moving into the eco-home. Instead, I moved into Dean’s place. It’s enough. For now. Our son, Jack, loves the yard. And for me, it’s the first place that’s ever really felt like home.
I’m sitting on the back patio, shoes kicked off, a cold drink sweating on the table beside me.
Jack is toddling across the lawn in his dinosaur pajamas.
Fourteen months old now and loud. Dean is chasing after him, arms outstretched, pretending to be outrun.
Jack shrieks with laughter, and Dean lets him win.
I rest a hand on the swell of my belly, where Jack’s brother is currently testing the limits of my ribcage. I’m eight months along. Let’s just say we were enthusiastic. With forty on the horizon, we figured there was no time to waste.
The agency is thriving. I’ve kept it small, just the way Mom intended.
No overreaching, no expansion. Just solid work, loyal clients, and a team that actually cares.
It feels right. Mom would be proud. Her photo cutting the ribbon still hangs by my desk.
Every time I pass it, I remember why we started.
In a twist I still don’t fully understand, Vinnie runs the day-to-day while I’m on maternity leave. He was desperate, I needed someone who knew the ropes, and a generous salary helped us both bury the past. He’s also smart enough not to test a Carter twice.
That’s the other thing. I’m not a Pierce anymore. We skipped the big wedding. I was too pregnant and too tired for the whole circus. Instead, we signed the papers at City Hall on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. It was perfect.
Out on the lawn, Dean looks up and catches me watching him.
Jack has collapsed in a fit of giggles, and Dean’s smiling like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather be doing.
He’s really taken to this dad thing. Not that I’m surprised.
He’s had plenty of practice with his nephews.
There are five of them now, soon to be six.
Natalie just announced she’s pregnant again.
Dean made the decision early on to step back from work. Not forever. Just for now. He didn’t want to miss this. The early years don’t come around twice.
I smile back at him.
I used to think strength meant staying untouchable. That power lived in distance and control.
After Jason and Elise, I told myself I couldn’t trust again. That love wasn’t safe. I thought I was protecting myself. Really, I was just shutting everything out.
But real strength isn’t about building walls. It’s about letting someone in, even when it’s terrifying. It’s choosing not to turn your back on love, even after it’s let you down.
I think back to that showing at The Union, the day we met. He was arrogant, too confident, and absolutely not my type. I tried to brush him off. I told myself he was a complication I didn’t need.
But he didn’t scare easy. He kept showing up with that quiet persistence. The kind that builds trust and wears down walls you didn’t even realize you’d built. He saw every sharp edge in me and didn’t flinch.
And in the end, he gave me the one thing I always wanted but never dared admit. The one thing I couldn’t find on my own—a family.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not bracing for what comes next. I’m just letting myself have this.
Dean
“CEO suits you,” I say as Henry walks in with a kid on each hip.
James is two now, Tom nine months. Henry’s turning forty this year, a little gray creeping in at the temples.
Mom handed him the reins about a year and a half ago, and somehow he’s kept the whole operation running. I still don’t know how.
“Help Natalie with the bags,” he says.
“It’s one bag,” Natalie replies, breezing in behind him in a white dress, a small diaper bag slung over her shoulder. She looks about six months pregnant, which can’t be right, but I’m not about to ask.
Henry’s always fussing over her. I can’t say much. I hover around Michelle like she’s made of glass most days.
Will and Abigail are already out back with their boys, the three of them tearing around the garden. Mom’s here too. She warmed to Michelle faster than I expected. Credits her with “sorting Max out,” which feels fair.
It’s nice, watching the kids all together, even if it’s exhausting. Will’s eldest, Harvey, is already taking charge, bossing the others around. Just like his father. Typical eldest.
After lunch, I end up on the deck, leaning against the railing. Below me, the yard hums with noise. Kids shouting. Someone laughing. Plates clinking as they’re cleared away.
My eyes find Michelle at the table. She’s sitting with Natalie and Abigail, their heads tipped together, laughing at something.
Really laughing, the kind that crinkles her eyes and shakes her shoulders.
It’s good to see. I think losing her friend hit harder than losing her ex ever did.
And I think she missed having women around more than she realized. I knew they’d all get along.
Henry steps up beside me. “Still can’t believe you were living down the street this whole time.”
I don’t say anything. Mostly because I feel stupid. I kept my distance for years, telling myself I liked the space. Michelle did the same. We both built walls, and for what? Henry’s too busy with his kids and Carter to show up unannounced anyway.
Mom, though, is retired now. She comes around more. Not for me. For Jack and Michelle. Most days, I’m not even sure she notices I’m in the room. But when she does, her eyes always land on the tattoo. The disapproval never fades. I kind of like it.
“Give Michelle a break next time,” Henry says.
“Like you can talk.”
“Hey, we had a solid year between.” He pauses. “Six months. That’s rough.”
“She’s good,” I say. A little tired, maybe, but she keeps saying the second time is easier.
Henry nods, watching the yard. “She looks happy.”
“She is.”
A beat passes.
“You too?”
I glance back at Michelle. Jack is clinging to her leg, and she smooths his hair back, smiling down at him.
“Yeah,” I say. “Took me long enough.”
Henry claps me on the back. My instinct is to shrug him off. This time, I let it land.
Noise echoes from inside the house. Henry and I both turn as Max bursts onto the deck.
“Let yourself in, did you?” I say.
“Okay,” he says, breathless. “Nobody freak out.”
“Freak out about what?” Henry asks.
“You know that secret project I mentioned? The one I wasn’t allowed to talk about?”
We stare at him.
“No,” we say together.
“Great,” he says, nodding like that helps. “So. It was a dating show.”
Henry squints. “Reality TV?”
“Yes. But classy. Sort of. They match you with eight supposedly perfect people, but that part doesn’t matter.”
“Then why bring it up?” I ask.
“Because there’s a girl here. She’s not a contestant. She’s production.”
“What?”
“It’s a long story,” Max says quickly. “The point is, I think she might be it. So please. I’m begging you. Be cool. No smart comments, no teasing, and absolutely no questions about how we met.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns and disappears back into the house.
A moment later, we hear a woman’s voice from inside. Clipped and unimpressed. Then Max again, slightly panicked. “I was just checking where everyone was sitting.”
Henry snorts. “This should be fun.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “It will.”
The End