Epilogue
ABBY
Daisy sits on the floor, coloring with ferocious focus, tongue caught between her teeth. She’s wearing one of her daisy dresses even though I told her three times it’s not really weather-appropriate.
“It’s fine,” she said seriously. “I’m comfortable.”
That’s become her favorite word lately.
Brendon is in the kitchen, moving around like he’s always been there.
Like this isn’t still new enough to make my chest ache if I think about it too long.
He hums quietly while he loads the dishwasher, stacking plates with deliberate care, like he understands that domestic moments count just as much as the big ones.
This is what staying looks like.
“Abby,” he calls. “Can you come here for a second?”
I glance down at Daisy. “Eyes on your coloring.”
“I am,” she says, offended. “I’m multitasking.”
I smile and step into the kitchen.
Brendon turns to face me, his expression softer than usual, more careful. My pulse ticks up instinctively.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says quickly. “I just… wanted to do this right.”
That should probably scare me.
It doesn’t.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just simple, steady, unmistakable.
My breath leaves me all at once.
“Brendon,” I whisper.
“I’m not going to make a speech,” he says gently. “You already know how I feel. And I don’t want promises to sound like performances.”
He opens the box.
The ring is perfect—not because it’s extravagant, but because it’s thoughtful. Clean lines. Solid. Like something meant to be worn every day, not just admired.
“I love you,” he says quietly. “I’ve loved you since we were kids who thought love was enough on its own. Now I know better. Love is a choice you keep making.”
My eyes burn.
“I want to make that choice with you,” he continues. “If you’ll let me. If you still want me here.”
I don’t hesitate.
“Yes,” I say, the word steady and certain. “Yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger with reverence, like this moment deserves to be handled carefully. I laugh and cry at the same time, pulling him into me, my arms tight around his neck.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur into his shoulder.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why this works.”
A small voice clears her throat dramatically behind us.
“Um,” Daisy says. “Do you have something to tell me?”
We turn.
She stands in the doorway, coloring forgotten, hands on her hips like she’s bracing for important business.
Brendon lowers himself to one knee again, this time in front of her. His voice is steady, but I can see the emotion flicker across his face.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “Can I ask you something?”
She nods solemnly.
“I know I didn’t start out as part of your life,” he says carefully. “But being here with you and your mom has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
My chest tightens.
“If it’s okay with you,” he continues, “I’d really like to stay. Officially. I’d like to be your dad.”
Daisy doesn’t answer right away.
She studies him, serious and thoughtful in a way that always undoes me. Then she steps forward and places her small hand on his shoulder.
“You already are,” she says simply.
I gasp.
“But yes,” Daisy adds. “You can be my official one too.”
Brendon’s breath breaks as he pulls her into a careful, fierce hug, his eyes closing like he’s holding something sacred.
I kneel beside them, wrapping my arms around both of them, and for the first time, the future doesn’t feel fragile.
It feels solid.
It feels chosen.
Later, when Daisy is tucked into bed and the house settles into its familiar quiet, Brendon and I sit together on the couch, my head resting against his shoulder, my hand warm with the weight of the ring.
“This love changed me,” I say softly.
He presses a kiss to my hair. “Me too.”
I think about the years we lost. The misunderstandings. The fear. The way love left its mark on us even when we tried to let it go.
Some loves don’t disappear.
They wait. And then they come back stronger than ever before.