EPILOGUE – THREE YEARS LATER
She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear as she lowers her clipboard and captures my eyes.
“Let’s skip the formalities. We can cover those later.” Her eyes narrow like she’s assessing how much she can ask me. How deep she can delve.
I run a hand down my tie, relaxing back into my seat.
“What do you want to know?”
A wrinkle settles between her brows. “Do you regret any of it?” It comes out as a whisper, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, so I can look at her more closely.
She holds my gaze, and that’s when I see it. Those tiny scars hidden in the depths of her irises, repaired by happiness, but never completely gone.
“Do you?” I ask.
Her brow relaxes, and she looks at me in understanding, recognizing a kindred survivor.
“No,” she replies simply. “Because I have what I have now. My husband, Jet. Our kids. My family wouldn’t be what it is today without what happened to me.”
I nod. “Sometimes the worst days of our lives can bring us the best later on.”
“Exactly,” she whispers. “You saw my story, then? Forest Girl?”
“I did.”
She looks back, unwavering.
Ava Grant, a casting director turned producer, who once allowed the world to see her own tragedy after she was involved in a plane crash as a child and survived purely from a mix of luck and determination.
“It was therapeutic for me.”
“As we hope this will be for us,” I reply.
The sounds outside the meeting room blur into a gentle hum in the background as we sit in silence.
She waits for my answer.
For my confirmation.
She doesn’t push me. She already knows what I’m going to say. I wouldn’t have accepted her invitation to sit and talk about it if my family hadn’t already decided.
We’ve been inundated with calls from Hollywood, wanting to put our family’s story on screen for the world to see.
When Uncle Mal’s trial finished and he was given a suspended sentence after pleading guilty to arson and endangering life, we released a statement to the press, giving out some details.
But not all. We knew they might twist it to their own narrative if they chose.
So, we decided, as a family, that we’d do it our way.
We’d make sure the truth was told exactly as it happened.
But we knew we had to wait for the right person to trust our story with.
“We want your company to tell The Beauforts’ story,” I say.
She tips her chin. “Thank you.”
“How many?” I ask after a pause.
“Children? Two.” Her eyes light up, knowing exactly what I mean. Because after you go through something like the two of us have, family is the only thing that ever really matters to you again. “And you have—”
“One, and another on the way. Plus, five other kids in the family who are always together.” I match her smile as her brows shoot up.
“Wow. Your house must be busy.”
“It’s chaos.” I chuckle.
My father and Halliday have Mattison. Sullivan and Tate have Molly and a little brother, Morgan. Seeing Sullivan be a dad to a newborn makes me love and respect him even more for what he must have gone through as a single dad to Molly. Those kids are so goddamn loved.
Sinclair and Denver had twin girls, Malin and Mackenzie, something Sin was happy about. She said they were sent two smaller ones instead of one big one, so that she’s still able to sit. Denver’s already designed discreet trackers that attach to their clothes.
“I’d take chaos over being alone any day.” Ava smiles.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Me too.”
I drop my head and twist the signet ring on my finger. It was my father’s. It came out in the dirt when they exhumed the man who was buried in my grave. I wear it every day as a reminder of how lucky I am to have my family. One that sticks together, no matter what.
“We’ll set up meetings with everyone and work on this collaboratively.
I’ll make sure your story stays your own, I promise.
It’s something my company is passionate about.
The films we produce aren’t about what other people think they should be.
They’re about what you need them to be. Trust me, I know this is going to be hard. But it’ll be worth it.”
“We understand.”
“Why don’t we start with the first thing that comes to mind? It doesn’t have to be that day. It can be anything. The feeling you want to capture when you tell your story.”
A warmth wraps itself around me as I pull out my phone and look at my screensaver. It’s the three of us out at the park one day, big smiles on our faces as we don’t do anything crazy. We’re just walking together, enjoying the summer day.
“Did you know there’s a Saint of lost causes? Lost souls?”
“There is?” Ava says.
I smile at Mina’s little face—our daughter.
Then I run my thumb over my wife’s.
“Saint Jude,” I breathe.
“Being saved by her was the greatest risk of my life.”
The End.