Epilogue 2 - Harper
Montgomery House was wrapped in a quiet, pristine blanket of fresh Christmas snow. Outside, the pine trees bowed under the weight of white drifts, but inside, the air smelled of moms pasta, cranberries, and cinnamon, the exact scent of the holidays I remembered from my childhood.
In keeping with our family tradition, we had sent all the staff home for the holiday week. The massive house belonged only to us: no PR reps, assistant, chefs, no lingering shadows of the media or the past. Just family.
I stood in the kitchen, wiping flour off my hands with a dish towel, staring down at my mother’s handwritten cookbook open on the counter.
Beside it sat a cooling rack filled with warm gingerbread biscuits and the empty pots from the dinner we’d spent hours cooking and eating together.
For five years, Elliot and I had made it a point to keep these traditions alive, cooking her recipes, keeping Will’s journals close, and filling rooms that used to feel frozen in grief with laughter, music, and genuine warmth.
A mug of warm cider in hand, I slipped off my slippers and walked barefoot down the hallway toward my favorite sitting room.
As I approached the doorway, the low, familiar murmur stopped me in my tracks. I paused just out of sight, leaning against the doorframe, my heart doing that familiar, soft flutter it always did when I heard him.
The fire was crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, golden amber glow across the room. Perched on the plush velvet couch, the exact spot where my father had sat with me so many times over my life, sat my husband.
And tucked snugly against Elliot’s side was our four-year-old son, Asher.
My throat tightened instantly. The little boy Elliot had envisioned so many years ago, existed now and was the perfect twin to his father.
He had Eliott’s messy, dirty blonde hair, his sharp little chin, and those brilliant, sparkling blue eyes that held the entire world in them.
Asher was wearing matching tartan pajama pants, his small hands wrapped around a stuffed plush dog, staring up at Elliot with pure, unadulterated love.
"Daddy?" His soft, sweet voice carried across the quiet room.
Elliot looked down at him, his expression so filled with love it took my breath away. He reached down, ruffling golden curls. "Yeah, buddy?"
Asher wiggled closer, resting his head directly against Elliot’s chest, right over his heart, the exact way I used to lay when Elliot held me through my darkest nights.
"Tell me the story," Asher murmured softly. "The greatest love story."
Tears immediately pricked the backs of my eyes. I bit my lower lip, clutching my cider mug a little tighter, remaining hidden in the shadow of the doorway. It was the exact phrase I had whispered to my father dozens of times on that very couch, asking to hear how he fell in love with my mother.
Elliot smiled, a soft, incredibly gentle expression settling over his features. He pulled the blanket up over Asher’s shoulders and looked into the fire, his voice dropping into a rich, storytelling cadence.
"Once upon a time," Elliot began softly, "there was a princess.
Only, she wasn't the kind of princess who stayed locked in a tower waiting for someone to rescue her.
She was fierce, brilliant, and brave. But because the world could be cold and mean, her family hid her away to keep her safe, under a different name, so no one could hurt her. "
Asher listened intently, his blue eyes wide. "Was she hiding from dragons?"
Elliot chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Something like that. Big, noisy dragons with cameras and loud voices." Elliot paused, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames. "And then there was a prince. Except... he wasn't a very good prince at first."
Asher tilted his head. "Why?"
"Because he was scared," Elliot admitted quietly, his voice carrying an unvarnished honesty that made my chest ache with love.
"He was afraid that if he let anyone close to his heart, they would leave him.
So he put up big, high walls, made lots of silly mistakes, and tried to pretend he didn't need anybody.
He thought protecting himself was more important than being brave. "
"Did the princess fight him?" Asher asked.
"She didn't have to," Elliot whispered. "She was just...
her. She stood tall, she reclaimed her power, and she showed him what true courage looked like.
And when the prince finally realized how much he loved her, how she made the whole world brighter just by being in it, he threw away his crown, left his big fancy castle behind, and swore he would protect her forever.
He even took her name so they could build a brand-new kingdom together. "
Elliot looked down at our son, his thumb gently tracing Asher’s cheek. "She didn't just save herself. She saved the prince's broken heart, too."
"Do you love the princess a lot, Daddy?" Asher yawned, his eyelids growing heavy.
"I love her more than all the stars in the sky, buddy," Elliot murmured softly. "Every single day."
A hand gently settled on my shoulder from behind.
I turned my head slightly to see my father standing beside me in the dim hallway.
He looked older now, the harsh, sharp lines of his face softened by years of peace, rest, and joy.
His dark eyes were shining with unshed tears as he looked past me into the sitting room, watching his son-in-law and his grandson on the couch.
He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He simply put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to his side.
Standing there with my father, watching Elliot hold our son in the house where so much pain had once lived, I felt the final, lingering pieces of our family's old grief dissolve into the warm air.
The Montgomery dynasty wasn't built on corporate empires, press headlines, or bitter legacy wars anymore.
It was built right here, in a quiet room, by a crackling fire, with love that had been fought for, earned, and chosen.
Suddenly, a sharp, distinct flutter rippled against my palm.
I let out a soft gasp, resting my hand over the swell of my bump. Beneath my fingers, our baby girl kicked again, a firm, energetic little tap, as if she were demanding to be let out to join story time.
My father looked down at my stomach, a brilliant smile breaking across his face. He pressed a warm kiss to the top of my head, his hand resting gently over mine on my bump.
It was a second chance. A full-circle gift at the life my father had so desperately wanted for us all those years ago; the family that had been stolen from him, now restored, expanded, and thriving in the light.
A new line of Montgomerys.
A new love story.
Inside the room, Elliot caught the movement in the doorway. His head snapped up, his clear blue eyes finding mine through the dim light.
A breathtaking smile spread across his face, the look of a man who knew he had everything he would ever need in this life. He mouthed three words across the quiet room:
I love you.
I smiled through my tears, resting my hand over my heart, and whispered back:
I love you too.