Epilogue—Erik
One year later, Peter is still arguing about which child he gets to carry down the aisle.
"You had Callan at breakfast," Callie tells him from the garden, where she has Zoya balanced against one hip while Peter adjusts the tiny jacket on my son. "That means you get Maren."
Peter looks at her as if she has misunderstood a binding agreement. "Callan prefers me."
"He's one."
"That doesn't make his judgment invalid." Peter settles Callan against his shoulder just as Liya comes through the terrace doors carrying Maren, who immediately reaches toward the flowers tied to the nearest chair.
"You've been having this argument for a month." Liya shifts Maren higher when she lunges for the flowers again.
"I've been explaining my position for a month." Peter looks satisfied with the distinction, so I leave them to it.
The garden is full without being crowded.
Rowan wanted the wedding here, at the house where the nursery has three cribs, her books fill half my office, and nobody needs permission to enter the kitchen.
White chairs face the terrace beneath strings of flowers Callie supervised personally.
Near the front, Laura sits beside a framed photograph of Jeremy Bennett.
Eleven students receive scholarships in his name every year now.
The last Zaitsev prosecution closed three weeks ago.
Rahil Antonov and Evelyn Grant are serving their sentences, while Richard testified, left university leadership, and disappeared from public life.
Evelyn writes to Rowan twice a year. Rowan has never answered.
Vanessa finished her sanctions and graduated. A card from her sits unopened on the gift table because Rowan decided she'll read it tomorrow. My own inquiry closed eight months ago with no charges, although the file remains permanent. I can live with permanent.
Makari comes up beside me and adjusts one cuff with the hand that never regained its full range of motion after the island. Harper follows him and immediately fixes his tie. "You've been wearing one for thirty years."
"You still correct it every time." Makari looks down at her while she straightens the knot.
"Because you still get it wrong." Harper smooths the front of his tie once before stepping away to take her place beside Rowan.
Makari watches her go long enough that I look at him.
"Don't," he warns without turning.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
"I was." Music starts before he can object further.
Callie comes first with Zoya, who has apparently decided flower petals are food. Liya follows carrying Maren, whose attention is fixed on the guests. Peter brings Callan last and looks smug enough that I know he considers the assignment proof of victory.
Then Rowan steps onto the terrace, and everything else becomes irrelevant.
She finished another year of law school last month and returned full-time after our first semester with the triplets taught us exactly how little sleep two adults can survive on.
Her hair is pinned up loosely, and the dress she chose is simple enough that Callie complained for two weeks before admitting she loved it.
Rowan reaches me and takes my hand. "You're staring."
"I'm allowed."
"Temporarily." Her fingers tighten around mine as the officiant begins before I can argue.
We keep the ceremony short because neither of us wants a performance. Rowan gives me the same direct promises she gives everything else that matters. She'll tell me when I'm wrong, ask when she needs help, and keep choosing this life as long as it remains ours to choose. I promise the same.
When I kiss her, Callan starts yelling from Peter's lap. Rowan laughs against my mouth and glances toward him. "He objects."
"He objects to everything."
From the front row, Serena looks toward us. "He's in the ninetieth percentile for volume."
That earns enough laughter to delay the photographs.
By dinner, all three children have food on clothing that cost too much and no longer matters. Zoya has stolen bread from Peter's plate. Maren keeps dropping a spoon so Liya will retrieve it. Callan bangs both hands on the table whenever conversation goes too long without including him.
Serena lifts her glass after dessert. "For the record, Erik still arrives at every pediatric appointment with a folder of organized questions."
Rowan turns toward me. "A folder?"
"It has sections."
"I know. I've seen it." She takes a sip of champagne while Serena laughs.
"Callan is now in the ninetieth percentile for everything, including volume," Serena continues. "Zoya is attempting to climb furniture ahead of schedule, and Maren has apparently decided sleep is optional."
"They're advanced," Peter announces from across the table.
"They're exhausting," Rowan corrects him, and Laura laughs beside Callie.
Liya has spent the last year making the foundation public, audited, and independent of our surname. Peter complains about the rules, then attends every meeting.
Rowan is back at school full-time and intends to practice financial crimes law when she graduates. During dinner, Harper asks whether she ever considered another specialty.
Rowan looks toward Jeremy's photograph near the terrace doors before answering. "My father spent my childhood teaching me to follow money and question anyone who didn't want me looking at it. I think he designed my career by accident."
Laura smiles and reaches across the table to squeeze her hand. The conversation moves on without turning Jeremy into a wound everyone has to avoid.
Later, the terrace clears as people take the children outside before bed. I no longer run anything from rooms nobody knows exist.
My authority hasn't disappeared. It has simply found opponents who don't respect it.
Zoya starts crying first because Callie takes away a flower she's trying to eat. Maren joins her because Zoya is crying. Callan takes several seconds to consider the situation before deciding he refuses to be excluded.
I collect Zoya and Callan while Rowan picks up Maren. "You took the easy two," she tells me while she settles Maren against her shoulder.
I stare at our son, who is shouting directly into my collar. "Explain your definition of easy."
"Zoya likes being carried, and Callan only wants attention." Rowan barely finishes before Zoya grabs my tie and pulls.
I catch her hand before she can remove it. "Your argument is deteriorating."
Rowan smiles and adjusts Maren higher against her. "I have the one who bites."
"Maren doesn't bite."
Maren leans over Rowan's shoulder and bites the fabric of her dress.
Rowan looks at me. "I rest my case."
We carry them upstairs still arguing about who got the easier assignment, with Callan complaining into my shoulder and Zoya trying to steal my tie again while Maren chews on Rowan's dress.
Nobody wins.