Epilogue
Camille
A Year And A Half Later
That’s how long it had been since Hunter found his way back to us and chose to stay.
Not perfectly, not without struggle, but he stayed.
Therapy became part of his rhythm, as natural as brushing his teeth or heading off to work.
He moved through our days with an ease that I’d never dared to hope for, softer with himself, more present with the kids and me, more than I ever imagined possible.
The kids adored him. Zeke bragged to his friends that he had “the coolest almost-dad.” The twins clung to his legs when he came home, their curls bouncing as they squealed “Daddy!” as if the word had always belonged to him.
And me? I finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. So when he told me he had a surprise and blindfolded me in the truck, I didn’t panic. I laughed nervously, sure he was dragging me to some ridiculous adventure.
When we stopped, he helped me out, his hand warm on the small of my back. “Okay,” he whispered against my ear. “Open your eyes.”
The blindfold slipped away, and I went still, breath caught.
For a heartbeat, my mind flickered back to other surprises.
Like the weekend he swept me away, only for us to end up stranded on the side of the road, laughter and frustration tangled together.
My stomach tightened, anticipation and nerves twisting together in the quiet before me.
When I finally opened my eyes, a cozy white house waited in front of me.
A clean porch wrapped in fairy lights and white siding with clean lines that gave the house a fresh, timeless charm.
There were bright flowers in the flower beds, adding a pop of warmth against the black mulch.
And off to the side, a swing set had already claimed its place in the yard.
My heart lodged in my throat. “Hunter…”
The front door opened, and Zeke bolted out with the twins trailing behind. “Surprise, Mommy!” he shouted, his grin so wide it nearly split his face.
The twins clapped, squealing. “House! House!” I turned back to Hunter, my vision blurring with tears. He pulled a small box from his pocket and sank to one knee, blue eyes locked on mine.
“Camille,” he said, his voice rough but unwavering. “This isn’t just a house. It’s our home. A place for you, and me, and the kids, for us. I don’t just want to love you. I want to build a life with you. Forever.”
My hand pressed to my mouth, tears spilling hot and fast. For a moment, I could only stare.
The man I once thought would leave, the man who almost did, the man who fought his way back, kneeling in front of me, offering the life I never let myself believe I could have.
“I love you more than anything. I can’t promise I’ll always get it right, but I promise I’ll always try my best.”
He paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Marry me, Beautiful?”
“Yes,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “Yes, Hunter.”
The kids cheered, louder than before, as he slipped the ring onto my shaking hand. He stood and kissed me. Laughter and tears tangled between us, while small arms wrapped around our legs, pulling us into a hug that was chaotic and perfect all at once.
The kids wiggled out of our hug before I’d even caught my breath. Zeke darted straight through the front door, shouting, “This is my room! This is my room!” Chloe and Avery chased after him, squealing with each echo their tiny feet made against the hardwood floors.
Hunter grinned, slipping his arm around my waist. “Want to see what they’re screaming about?” As he pulled me along after them.
Inside, the house carried the faint scent of fresh paint and pine. Sunlight spilled through wide windows, pooling across floors that seemed to shine just for us. My throat tightened. This wasn’t just walls and a roof; it was so much more.
Zeke discovered a room with a rocket-ship comforter on the bed and let out a whoop of victory.
“You already decorated?” I asked, stunned.
Hunter scratched the back of his neck, sheepishly.
“Just a start. I wanted them to feel like it was theirs from the moment they walked in.” He pointed to a blue rocket lamp in Zeke’s room that lit up the corner, and to the twins’ room, where he’d put up a mural of a magical forest with friendly animals to keep them company at night.
Then he walked to a cozy little room off the living room.
A tall bookshelf lined one wall, crammed with books, framed pictures of the kids, Hunter, and me—our family in snapshots.
A small potted plant sat in the corner by the window, sunlight catching the leaves.
In the center, a sturdy oak desk waited, already set with a new lamp, a stack of notebooks, and my favorite mug.
“So you’ve got a space to work now,” Hunter said from the doorway, nodding toward the desk. “Figured you could study without having to move your books off the dinner table every night.”
My throat tightened as I turned to him, emotion catching somewhere between gratitude and disbelief. It wasn’t just a room. It was a piece of calm he’d built just for me.
We walked through the other rooms before turning back to the living room.
And there hanging in the hall was the shadow box I put together for him so long ago, right where his eyes would land every time he walked to our room.
The medals gleamed softly in the lamplight, the patch looked proud instead of forgotten, and the photo caught me the same way it had the first time.
Rows of faces, some living, some not, all part of him.
I turned to him, my chest tightening. He was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, watching me notice. No words, no explanation, just that doting look. Something cracked in me. Not sadness, not even pride. Something deeper.
“You hung it up,” I whispered, almost to myself.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low. His hand brushed over his beard, casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his eyes told the truth, it was. “Figured it’s time.”
I crossed the space to him, laying my palm against his chest, feeling the echoing beat of his heart beneath. “I’m proud of you.”
For a long time, he just looked at me. Then his arms slid around my waist, pulling me close until my forehead rested against his. His voice was quiet, but certain. “Me too.”
Our last stop was the kitchen. It was spacious, with fresh marble counters; I could actually imagine spreading textbooks and meal prep across without bumping elbows. A bouquet of flowers sat on the island, a handwritten note propped against the vase: Welcome home.
My hands shook as I touched it. “Hunter…”
He stepped behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, his chin brushing my hair. “I don’t want this to be just my place or your place. I want this to be ours: the kids’, yours, mine. A true home. No more temporary. No more waiting for the rug to be pulled out.”
I turned in his arms, tears slipping free, and kissed him again. This kiss was softer, steadier, gratitude woven through every breath.
From the living room, Zeke yelled, “Mom! This TV is so big!” followed by twin laughter. We both burst out laughing, the kind of laughter that cracked open years of holding on too tight.
And in that moment, surrounded by squeals and scattered toys, I knew this was more than a proposal. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of being left behind. This was the beginning of forever.
???
Exactly a year after Hunter proposed in front of our first home, we stood in the middle of a small outdoor venue, just down the street from the mini golf place where our story had first begun.
No big guest list, no grand decorations, just us, a handful of friends and family, Dani ran around like the best maid of honor, making sure everything was perfect, and our three little whirlwinds stole the spotlight the entire time.
Hunter’s parents came too. Over the last two years, I’ve gotten to know them more.
Sometimes they came to visit, and at other times we took the kids to New York and got to see the world he’d grown up in.
His mom eagerly documented every moment, her presence adding warmth and familiarity to the day.
The twins were supposed to walk down the grassy aisle tossing flower petals, the quintessential flower girl duo.
But, instead, they dumped the basket on the ground at the very beginning and spent the rest of the walk chasing each other, curls bouncing, dresses grass-stained before we even said, “I do.”
Zeke, the proud ring bearer, took his job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that he marched straight past Hunter and tried to hand the box to the officiant. The whole crowd laughed, and my mom had to gently redirect him back.
For a moment, I thought the chaos might ruin it.
But then I caught Hunter’s eyes. Those deep grey blue eyes, shining with an affection I’d never seen him let show in front of anyone.
He slipped his hands into mine, squeezing gently, and the world shrank down to just us.
“I didn’t think I’d ever deserve this,” he whispered, so low I barely caught it.
“You do,” I whispered back, voice trembling. “You always did.”
The words of the ceremony blurred, no matter how hard I tried to hold onto them. What stayed with me was Hunter’s vow: raw, honest, promising not perfection but presence. And my own, promising not just to love him, but to keep choosing him, even on the hard days.
When the officiant finally said we could kiss, the kids squealed louder than the handful of friends and family clapping. Zeke fist-pumped like he’d won a championship game, and the twins tried to climb Hunter’s legs mid-kiss.
Afterward, we danced around tables spread out beneath the trees, kids running wild while we cut into a cake that leaned a little to the left, Dani’s doing, after she left it in her car too long.
Hunter fed me a bite, I smeared frosting into his beard, and the kids screamed with laughter until my cheeks ached from smiling.