52. Epilogue
Epilogue
LONDYN
FOUR MONTHS LATER
SUNLIGHT POURS THROUGH THE KITCHEN windows of our new home. The light is like liquid gold and I love it. I'm standing at the island arranging crackers and cheese on a platter, humming softly under my breath.
I really love this kitchen because it's so spacious and so different from my old apartment in Manhattan.
It's an open concept, spilling out into the living room, with plenty of gleaming surfaces.
The polished concrete is cool beneath my feet, and the oversized living room windows span the entire wall, designed to erase the boundary between inside and outside.
There are so many windows in our home, and skylights, making it a place where sea and sky become part of our daily scenery.
But we both needed a place with easy exits, so life isn't completely without anxiety.
I think hypervigilance is just part of who we are as a couple.
Certain design features help us both feel more at ease.
Such as, the knife block sits precisely seventeen steps from the back door.
The kitchen island itself is positioned so that I can see all entrances while standing at its center.
And, of course, we have the best security setup around.
Security cameras monitor the perimeter and the inside, sending feeds to both of our phones.
Outside, a wraparound deck with weather-worn planks offers three separate staircases down to the sand.
Multiple escape routes, just in case. Each room flows into the next without sharp transitions, creating a continuous space that feels both expansive and protective.
This place is our home, our fortress, and where we both belong.
Also, Sean has his books. Lots and lots of books. An entire room of books. And I've actually read some of them, thanks to our weekly book club meetings. Sean is actually trying to convince Declan and Sienna to join so they can meet with us virtually every week.
They're busy people, though. Sienna has her non-profit work and her painting, and Declan recently started his own non-profit for abused women. Asking them to meet weekly is a lot, but maybe monthly or bi-monthly could work. I really like Sienna and can see us becoming better friends.
I pause to rest my palm against the swell of my belly, feeling the flutter of tiny movements. Our son. The word still catches in my throat sometimes. He's a tiny miracle growing inside me, half me and half Sean.
"My package finally arrived," Sean calls from the hallway. He appears and holds up a children's book with a ridiculous title about a dragon who can't stop hiccuping. "Got a new book. This is essential literature for any well-rounded baby."
I roll my eyes but can't suppress my smile. "I'm sure he'll be reciting Shakespeare before kindergarten with your influence."
"Don't be ridiculous." Sean crosses the space to the kitchen island. He sets the book down and then wraps his arms around me from behind, his hands joining mine over our child. "I'm thinking more Hemingway. Maybe some Steinbeck. Build character."
His breath is warm against my neck, and I lean back into the solid wall of his chest. These casual touches still surprise me sometimes; they've become so easy and natural. I no longer flinch or tense, just enjoy the simple pleasure of skin against skin.
I also enjoy that Sean craves that 'pleasure' almost every night and likes to be tied in chairs regularly. Guess I've discovered a kink he's happy to indulge.
"All he needs is a crib and some books," Sean says, his chin resting on top of my head as he looks down at the messy charcuterie boards I'm attempting. "Minimalist approach. Very modern."
I laugh and turn in his arms. "And where exactly are we storing all the baby clothes your mother keeps sending?"
"On the bookshelf, obviously."
"You're impossible." I stretch up to kiss him, loving the safety of his embrace. "He needs a proper nursery. Toys. A mobile above the crib. Something to look at besides blank walls."
"Books have pictures."
"We're painting the room blue," I say firmly. "Like the ocean. Like your hair." I reach up to thread my fingers through his long, electric blue strands.
"And how long after he's born should we wait before dyeing his hair? I want people to know the baby is mine."
I let out a long laugh. He's always saying something that makes me smile. "Probably a few years," I say and he looks disappointed.
A baby with blue hair—that would be something.
Sean's hand traces circles on my belly, and our son kicks in response. "And how much longer before I get to marry you?"
My heart flutters only for him. "As soon as our baby can walk down the aisle and carry our rings, I'll be Mrs. Walker-Choi."
"I'll have him walking by four months then."
I giggle. "Sure. You do that."
"I will." He places several soft kisses along my neck and then nibbles my ear. "Got any new names for me?"
"What about Kwan? I found it online. Sounds nice. Means 'strong one' in Korean, right?"
He considers it with his lips pursed. "Not bad. But what about William? Classic and timeless."
"William is what an accountant is named. Our son is going to be extraordinary."
"Fair point." He kisses my forehead. "What about Atlas?"
"Absolutely not. We are not naming him after a book character."
"Technically, Atlas is a Titan who held up the heavens, not—"
I press my fingers against his lips. "Hush, Professor. I need to finish getting the food ready before Raven arrives."
His smile warms me from the inside out, like sunshine unfurling beneath my skin. How did I get this lucky? This man who reads too much and makes silly jokes and looks at me like I'm the answer to questions he's been asking his whole life.
Sean releases me reluctantly, stealing one more kiss before moving to the fridge and grabbing a water bottle. "Well, I'll get out of your way for girls' afternoon or whatever you're calling this."
"Thank you." I turn back to my food preparations, but something catches in my peripheral vision. A shadow crossing Sean's face, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
Except I know I didn't.
These moments happen too frequently; he disappears somewhere I can't follow. His eyes go flat and distant, like he's staring at something a thousand miles away. The line between his brows deepens into a canyon he's on the verge of falling into.
Then he notices me watching, and the mask slides back into place. The easy smile returns. The warmth reignites. But I've seen what lurks beneath.
Something broke inside Sean the night he faced Victor.
He still won't fully explain what happened, no matter how gently I probe.
I know enough—that Sean helped two women escape from The Director's yacht, that The Director himself is gone, and the women told the police they killed him in self-defense.
It was a worldwide headline for several weeks.
And after the yacht, I know Sean had a confrontation with Victor that left him beaten and branded.
But Sean won't give details. Did he kill The Director, or was it really the women? That scar on his chest—the 'V' carved into his flesh—what exactly happened with Victor? What does that mean?
Whenever I try to bring it up, he only pulls me into his arms and then cups my face and says, "You're my purpose." He says it like that explains everything, and I should just accept that whatever darkness he carries doesn't matter as long as he's here with me.
I love when he says that, but I don't love that he's hiding something.
Maybe I should just 'accept.' Maybe it's enough that he came back to me, that we're building this life together.
But sometimes, in the quiet moments when he doesn't know I'm watching, I see it eating away at him from the inside.
Whatever promise he made, whatever debt he owes, is tearing at the edges of who he used to be.
I'm worried, but I also trust that Sean knows what he's doing. If he says everything will be okay, I have to believe that.
Still… fear is a difficult thing to unlearn. It settles in the spine and makes a home in your bones. Even in paradise, even with the man I love, even with this miracle growing inside me, I can't shake the feeling that we're living on borrowed time.
That I'll see Victor again someday.
"Need any help before I head to the beach?" Sean's voice pulls me back to our life together. He's lingering near the edge of the kitchen island with a water bottle and a book, watching me with that penetrating gaze that always seems to read every thought floating through my head.
"Oh, no. I got this."
"How about Merlin?"
I sigh before smiling at him. "Seriously? When have you ever met someone actually named Merlin?"
Sean laughs. "Merlin is a perfectly acceptable name. It commands respect."
"It commands teasing in elementary school."
"Kids are cool nowadays, aren't they?"
"You sound old."
He laughs again and is about to say something else when the doorbell chimes. My body instinctively tenses—that old, familiar surge of adrenaline whenever an unexpected sound breaks the quiet. But Sean's already moving toward the front door.
I pull in a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. This is my home. I'm safe here and thousands of miles from the U.S. The dangers from my past life no longer lurk around every corner.
Sean opens the door and then hugs Raven. She lets out an "oof" because Sean likes firm hugs.
He steps back, "Come on in."
Raven nods and hands him a bottle of sparkling cider. Her Australian accent lifts the final syllables of every word like she's perpetually asking a question. "Hey, mate. Where's my Lonny?" Then she spots me and hurries over for an embrace.
Raven bursts into the kitchen like a tornado of wild auburn curls and freckles and colors so bright they make my eyes water.
"There she is!" Raven engulfs me in a hug that smells like coconut sunscreen and salt water. "Look at that belly! He's a chunky one, isn't he?"