Chapter 165 Epilogue

Chapter 165 Epilogue
Five Years Later

“Bryson!”

Amelia's voice carried through the house with enough urgency that Bryson abandoned the document he had been reading and came out of his office immediately.

“What happened?”

Amelia stood at the bottom of the stairs with one hand braced against the railing and the other resting beneath the considerable curve of her stomach.

She stared at him, and Bryson stared back before his gaze immediately dropped to her stomach.

“Are you having contractions?”

“No.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No.”

“Did one of the babies—”

“Your son.”

Bryson stopped.

Amelia pointed upstairs. “Your son has locked himself in our bathroom.”

Some of the alarm left Bryson's face. “Why?”

“Because he cut his own hair.”

Bryson blinked.

“With your clippers.”

There was a brief silence before, against all common sense and every instinct toward self-preservation, the corner of Bryson's mouth twitched.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. “Don't.”

“I'm not doing anything.”

“You're trying not to laugh.”

“I am absolutely not laughing.”

“You think this is funny.”

“I haven't seen the damage yet.”

“Bryson.”

He pressed his lips together, although the effort only made his amusement more obvious.

“Go get your child.”

“Our child.”

“He became yours when I saw the back of his head.”

Bryson finally lost the battle and laughed.

Amelia tried to remain annoyed, but five years of marriage had made her far too familiar with that laugh, and pregnancy had apparently done nothing to improve her ability to resist it.

“It's not funny. He has school pictures next week.”

That stopped Bryson halfway up the first stair.

He turned. “That's unfortunate.”

Amelia laughed despite herself. “Go.”

Bryson disappeared upstairs while Amelia remained where she was, smiling as she listened to his footsteps cross the second floor.

Five years.

Some days, she still couldn't believe it had been that long.

Five years since she had walked down an aisle beneath a ceiling filled with artificial stars and watched Bryson's composure disappear before she ever reached him. Five years since he had slipped a wedding band onto her finger with a trembling hand and my wife had stopped being his favorite premature declaration and become the truth.

Somehow, the life that followed had been even fuller than the one she had imagined that night.

Their first child had been a boy, arriving the following August with Bryson's eyes, Amelia's mouth and enough personality to make both of his parents understand within months that genetics occasionally had a sense of humor.

Their daughter had followed two years later.

Mariel.

Amelia had not chosen the name casually. She and Bryson had gone to Marcus before telling anyone else, and Amelia still remembered sitting across from him at their kitchen table and asking whether he would be comfortable with their daughter carrying his sister's name.

For a man who could walk into almost any situation without visibly reacting, Marcus had sat staring at Amelia for so long that Bryson eventually reached across and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Then Marcus cried.

There had been nothing dramatic about it. He simply bowed his head while tears slipped quietly down his face, and when he finally looked at Amelia again, his answer had been one word.

“Yes.”

Little Mariel had owned him from the moment she was born.

Now, at three years old, she had discovered that fact and used it shamelessly.

“Mommy!”

Amelia looked up to find a tiny girl standing at the top of the staircase wearing one sparkly shoe, a princess dress over pajama pants and a plastic crown sitting crookedly over a mass of dark curls.

“Yes, baby?”

“Uncle Marcus said no.”

Amelia's eyebrows rose.

That was impressive.

Marcus rarely said no to Mariel.

“To what?”

Mariel seemed to consider whether honesty was in her best interest before deciding against it and carefully making her way down the stairs.

Amelia waited until she reached the bottom.

“What did you ask Uncle Marcus for?”

“Nothing.”

“Mariel.”

The little girl sighed with the suffering of someone deeply misunderstood. “I asked if I could drive his car.”

Amelia stared at her. “You're three.”

“I know.”

“And what did Uncle Marcus say?”

“No.”

“That was an excellent answer.”

Mariel frowned. “Daddy drives.”

“Daddy is considerably older than three.”

“I can learn.”

Amelia laughed before she could stop herself.

“This is what I deal with.”

She turned toward Marcus's voice and found him standing in the doorway from the kitchen holding Mariel's abandoned second shoe.

Five years had softened some of the severity around him, although not enough that anyone unfamiliar with Marcus would have called him relaxed. He was still observant, still protective and still capable of entering a room and identifying every exit before most people had located their chairs.

But the man who had once checked constantly to make sure Amelia was still there now had a three-year-old shadow who believed his primary purpose in life was to provide snacks, rides and unrestricted access to things she absolutely should not touch.

Amelia smiled. “You told her no?”

“I did.”

“I'm proud of you.”

“So am I.”

Mariel looked between them. “I'm not.”

Marcus's mouth twitched.

Amelia pointed at him. “Don't laugh. She'll know you're weak.”

“She already knows.”

Mariel lifted both arms toward him. “Up.”

Marcus looked at Amelia.

She smiled sweetly. “Good luck.”

He lasted approximately two seconds before bending to lift Mariel into his arms.

She immediately kissed his cheek and rested her head against his shoulder, victorious.

Amelia laughed. “Pathetic.”

“Completely.”

Marcus's gaze dropped toward Amelia's stomach. “You've been standing too long.”

Amelia stared at him.

There it was.

Five years, two children and apparently no cure.

“I'm pregnant, Marcus. Not injured.”

“With twins.”

“I am aware. They're inside me.”

“You should sit.”

Amelia opened her mouth, but Bryson's voice came from the staircase before she could answer.

“He's right.”

She slowly turned.

Her husband descended the stairs with their son beside him, and Amelia forgot her argument immediately.

“Oh, my God.”

Bryson had apparently attempted damage control.

There had not been much to work with.

A significant section of their son's hair was now much shorter than everything surrounding it.

Amelia covered her mouth.

Their little boy frowned. “You said you weren't gonna laugh.”

“I am not laughing.”

“You're doing the face.”

Bryson looked at Amelia. “She does have a face.”

“Do not encourage him.”

Their son looked up at his father. “Daddy said it'll grow back.”

“It will.”

“And Daddy said it looks cool.”

Amelia's eyes moved to Bryson.

“I said we could make it look cool.”

“Important distinction,” Marcus offered.

Bryson pointed toward him. “Thank you.”

Amelia looked between the three males in front of her and shook her head. “I'm surrounded.”

Bryson came down the remaining stairs and slipped an arm carefully around her waist. “You love us.”

“I do.”

“Problem solved.”

He kissed her, and five years had changed the intimacy between them in ways Amelia could never have understood before him. There was nothing tentative anymore, no wondering what a touch meant or where a moment might lead. His mouth against hers carried familiarity now, but familiarity had never made it less intimate.

If anything, knowing him had only made loving him deeper.

“Eww.”

They separated.

Their son looked horrified while Mariel giggled from Marcus's arms.

Bryson glanced at his children. “You're both here because I kiss your mother.”

“Bryson!”

Marcus turned away, laughing.

Their son made a face. “That's gross.”

“You'll appreciate the science eventually.”

Amelia smacked Bryson lightly against the chest. “Please stop educating our children.”

He smiled and kissed her temple before his hand moved naturally to her stomach.

One of the babies responded almost immediately.

Bryson froze.

“There.”

“I felt it.”

His entire expression changed, just as it had every time for every pregnancy. Even with two children already running through their house and two more waiting to meet them, Bryson still reacted to movement beneath Amelia's skin as though he were experiencing it for the first time.

Another kick pressed against his palm.

His smile appeared slowly. “Which one was that?”

“How would I know?”

“You're carrying them.”

“They don't wear name tags in there.”

“We should've considered that.”

Amelia laughed.

They still had not settled on names, which had become increasingly concerning to everyone except Bryson. He maintained that he refused to name two human beings until he had seen their faces.

Amelia suspected this was simply another manifestation of his belief that he could solve anything under pressure.

She had decided to let him discover the flaw in that philosophy personally.

The doorbell sounded, and Mariel immediately squirmed in Marcus's arms.

“They're here!”

The house erupted as their son forgot about his hair, Mariel demanded to be put down and Bryson reminded both children not to run toward the door, which ensured they moved only marginally slower.

Amelia smiled.

Family Sunday had begun.

Within thirty minutes, the house was full.

Charles and Maddie arrived carrying gifts despite being repeatedly told that Family Sunday did not require them, while Quincy and Maggie followed shortly afterward. Amelia barely finished greeting her parents before Maggie's attention dropped predictably toward her stomach.

“How are my babies?”

Amelia smiled. “I'm doing wonderfully too, Mom. Thank you for asking.”

Maggie kissed her cheek. “I already know how you are.”

“Do you?”

“You're tired.”

“I have two children, two more inside me and a husband who believes pregnancy requires surveillance.”

From across the room, Bryson responded without looking up. “It requires attention.”

“Surveillance.”

“Attention.”

Charles smiled. “Five years and you're still having the same argument.”

Amelia looked at Bryson.

Bryson looked at her.

“Yes,” they answered together.

The room laughed.

Beverly and Graham arrived not long afterward, and Amelia grinned the moment she saw them.

Marriage had done absolutely nothing to settle either of them down.

If anything, it had made them worse.

They had married a little over three years ago in a beautiful, intimate ceremony followed by a honeymoon that somehow became a month-long tour through Europe. After that, traveling became their thing. They had decided early in their marriage that children weren't part of the life they wanted, and instead of apologizing for that choice or treating their marriage as though something were missing from it, they had built exactly the life that made them happy.

Whenever work and schedules allowed, they went somewhere.

Italy. Greece. Japan. South Africa. Bali. Spain.

Sometimes they disappeared for two weeks. Sometimes Graham found a long weekend, Beverly found cheap enough first-class tickets to justify it to herself, and by Friday afternoon they were sending pictures from somewhere Amelia hadn't known they were planning to visit.

Their refrigerator had become covered in postcards from them.

“Look who finally decided to stay in the country long enough to visit us,” Amelia teased as Beverly embraced her carefully.

Beverly laughed. “We were here three weeks ago.”

“You were in Portugal three weeks ago.”

“Exactly. We came back.”

“For four days.”

Graham kissed Amelia's cheek. “That counts.”

“No, it doesn't.”

Bryson approached and embraced Graham before Beverly hugged him.

“Where are you two going next?” Bryson asked.

Beverly and Graham exchanged a glance.

Amelia pointed at them immediately. “See? That look means they've already booked something.”

“Thailand,” Beverly admitted.

Amelia stared at her. “When?”

“Next month.”

“Of course.”

Graham shrugged. “You could come.”

Amelia looked down at the enormous curve of her stomach and then back at him.

“Absolutely. Let me grab my passport.”

Bryson's hand immediately settled against her back. “No.”

Everyone laughed.

Mariel came running toward them. “Aunt Beverly!”

Beverly's entire face lit up as she bent to catch her.

“There is my girl.”

Graham looked down at Amelia's son, who had followed his sister into the room.

“Nothing for Uncle Graham?”

The little boy stared at him before pointing at his head.

“I cut my hair.”

Graham studied the damage solemnly.

“I respect the commitment.”

“Do not encourage him,” Amelia warned.

“I would never.”

Bryson and Graham exchanged a look.

Amelia caught it.

“Both of you are a problem.”

Beverly laughed and shifted Mariel onto her hip.

They had no children of their own and had never wanted them, but Aunt Beverly and Uncle Graham were adored by Bryson and Amelia's children, partly because they arrived with stories from places the children had only seen in books and partly because Beverly had never encountered a gift shop she couldn't justify.

Their marriage suited them.

So did the freedom they had deliberately built into it.

They loved each other, loved their family and loved being able to disappear across the world together whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Amelia had long ago stopped asking when they were going to settle down.

This was settled for them.

And they were happy.

Roderick and Claire arrived next, although these days they rarely arrived anywhere as only the two of them. Their little boy came barreling through the door ahead of his parents and was immediately intercepted by Amelia's son, who apparently decided his unfortunate haircut no longer mattered now that his cousin had arrived.

Claire barely made it through the doorway before Amelia hugged her.

“There she is.”

Claire carefully embraced her around the twins. “You get bigger every time I see you.”

Amelia pulled back. “I am beginning to question why everyone feels so comfortable saying this to me.”

Roderick laughed as he passed them carrying enough food to suggest he believed the household was facing an imminent famine.

Claire's gaze immediately traveled to Amelia's stomach. “How are my godbabies?”

“Apparently everyone is more interested in them than me.”

“I've known you long enough. They're newer.”

Amelia laughed and hugged her again.

Marriage suited Claire, and motherhood did too. There was a softness to her happiness now that Amelia loved seeing, although absolutely nothing about motherhood had made Claire quieter. If anything, having a little boy had simply given her another person to recruit into whatever trouble she and Lila were planning.

Lila and Armando arrived several minutes later, and Amelia's face lit up before either of them said a word.

Lila was pregnant.

The small curve beneath her dress was unmistakable now, and Armando's hand seemed to find the small of her back every few minutes as if he needed the physical reminder that both she and their baby were right there.

Amelia immediately reached for her.

“How's my niece or nephew?”

Lila placed a protective hand over her stomach. “Apparently offended by breakfast.”

Armando came up behind his wife. “Everything offends the baby before noon.”

“Your child is dramatic.”

“My child?”

Lila looked at him.

Armando corrected himself immediately. “Our incredibly reasonable child.”

Amelia laughed. “Marriage has taught you well.”

“It taught me survival.”

Lila elbowed him lightly before leaning into his side, and Armando kissed the top of her head.

Amelia watched them for a moment, her heart warming.

Both of her girls were married now.

Claire had Roderick and their little boy. Lila had Armando and their first baby on the way. There had been a time when the three women measured their lives by emergencies, scandals and whatever fresh disaster threatened to ruin the week.

Now they compared children's schedules, pregnancies and husbands who hovered too much.

Amelia much preferred this version of their lives.

Evan and Martina arrived together later, their relationship no longer requiring the knowing glances it once had. Whatever had begun quietly between them around the time of Amelia and Bryson's wedding had taken its time becoming something either was willing to name, but eventually pretending had become more difficult than admitting what everyone else had already noticed.

Maya had noticed first.

Naturally.

She wasn't with them today, however, and Amelia still wasn't accustomed to that.

At twenty-one, Maya was finishing her final year at the Rhode Island School of Design, a fact Martina managed to work into conversation with anyone who stood still long enough to listen. Amelia couldn't blame her.

Maya had earned every ounce of that pride.

The quiet teenager who had once nervously shown Amelia drawings she wasn't sure anyone would want to see had grown into an extraordinary young artist. Lila had displayed several of Maya's paintings over the years, initially in smaller emerging-artist collections and eventually under Maya's own name. Several had sold, including one before its exhibition had officially opened, and Lila now complained that Maya's prices were becoming inconveniently expensive whenever Amelia tried to claim another painting for the house.

Amelia loved that most of all.

Lila had opened the door.

Maya's talent had carried her through it.

“She'll be home next month,” Martina promised when Amelia complained about Maya missing Family Sunday again.

“She said that last month.”

“She has her senior work.”

“I know.”

Evan smiled. “You sound like her mother.”

“I've accepted that all of you are mine now.”

Marcus, passing behind her, muttered, “Unfortunately.”

Amelia turned. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“That's what I thought.”

Some things, thankfully, had not changed at all.

Amy wasn't there that Sunday, although that was not unusual. Over the years, she had built a life elsewhere and came through New York only occasionally. When she did, she sometimes visited Amelia and always made time to see her niece.

The relationship between Amy and Amelia had never needed a label. They weren't family simply because Ashley had once tried to force all of their lives together, and they weren't close friends who spoke every week. They had simply become two women who had survived the same person's destruction from very different sides and eventually learned how to sit in the same room without the past occupying every chair.

Bryson remained cordial with Amy.

That was enough.

He had never been required to forget what happened at the hotel simply because Amy later did the right thing, and Amy had never asked him to.

Nadia's place in Amelia's life had developed just as unexpectedly.

After Nadia moved away, she continued returning so Carl could spend time with the daughter they shared. During one of those visits, she and Amelia ran into each other, and an awkward conversation eventually became another, then another, until over time they settled into an easy acquaintance neither woman would have predicted years earlier.

Nadia and Carl were both still single.

Somewhere along the way, however, they had become friends and learned to co-parent their daughter without dragging the wreckage of their old relationship behind them.

More surprising was Nadia's relationship with Carl's younger daughter, the child Ashley had given birth to while incarcerated.

Nadia had no obligation to that little girl.

She loved her anyway.

Over time, she had become a mother figure to her, making sure the child was never treated differently when she was with her older sister and stepping naturally into the spaces where a mother's presence mattered. Amy remained connected to her niece as well, visiting whenever she was in town.

Carl had full custody and, from everything Amelia heard, had become a good father.

That was enough for her.

She didn't need Carl sitting in her living room on Family Sunday to know they had both moved on. Their marriage belonged to another lifetime, and the absence of anger between them didn't require them to become friends.

Peace was enough.

Ashley had never found the same peace.

Her prosecution had eventually ended with a life sentence for Elysa Brooks's murder and the other crimes that followed. Technically, she could become eligible for parole after thirty-five years, but even her own attorney had privately acknowledged that, considering the totality of her convictions and the evidence against her, she was unlikely ever to walk free.

Amelia felt no satisfaction in that.

She felt even less sorrow.

The only person she grieved for was Ashley's daughter, who had entered the world innocent of everything her mother had done. Fortunately, the little girl had Carl, Nadia, Amy and a sister who adored her.

Ashley had consequences.

Her daughter had a family.

That distinction mattered to Amelia.

By evening, the house had become beautifully chaotic.

Children moved between rooms with the peculiar ability to make three times as much noise as their actual numbers should allow. Someone had spilled juice. Bruce was complaining about people touching food before he finished plating it, while Claire and Lila were laughing so loudly in the kitchen that Amelia could hear them from the other side of the house.

Roderick and Armando had somehow been recruited into moving something neither woman had actually asked them to move. Beverly was showing Maddie and Maggie photographs from Portugal while Graham had inserted himself into Charles and Quincy's debate and appeared to be making the situation considerably worse.

Bryson, Maddie and Maggie had each independently attempted to convince Amelia to sit down.

Eventually, she surrendered.

She settled onto the sofa with one hand beneath her stomach while Bryson sat beside her.

Their son raced through the room with Claire and Roderick's little boy, his questionable haircut apparently forgotten. Mariel followed in her crooked crown while Marcus trailed several steps behind because a man who had once protected Amelia from actual threats now spent Sunday afternoons preventing preschoolers from launching themselves off expensive furniture.

Lila sat tucked against Armando with one hand resting unconsciously over their unborn child.

Claire had her head against Roderick's shoulder.

Beverly laughed from across the room as Graham said something that made Quincy shake his head while Charles immediately took Graham's side.

Evan stood behind Martina, showing her something Maya had sent from school.

Amelia smiled.

Bryson noticed immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He studied her face. Five years had not changed that either.

“You're thinking.”

“I'm always thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Amelia nudged him.

Bryson smiled and rested his hand over her stomach.

One of the twins kicked.

Then the other responded.

His eyebrows rose. “They're fighting.”

“They're moving.”

“That felt hostile.”

Amelia laughed.

Bryson leaned closer to her stomach. “You two have plenty of room.”

She stared at him. “They absolutely do not.”

He looked up. “Fair.”

Amelia laughed again and rested her head against his shoulder.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

They simply watched their life.

Not the perfect version.

The real one.

Their son's questionable haircut, Mariel's abandoned sparkly shoe beneath the coffee table and Marcus sitting on the floor because a three-year-old had decided his lap belonged to her. Claire and Roderick were raising a little boy who had somehow inherited Claire's volume and Roderick's ability to look innocent immediately after causing trouble, while Lila carried her first child as Armando watched her with a tenderness she occasionally pretended not to notice.

Beverly and Graham had found happiness in each other and a marriage built around seeing as much of the world together as they possibly could. Maya was hundreds of miles away finishing her final year at one of the finest art schools in the country, her paintings already finding homes through the gallery where Amelia had first realized how extraordinary her talent could become. Evan and Martina had finally stopped pretending no one could see what had been growing between them.

Their parents were getting older but still laughing.

Their friends had become family.

And beneath Amelia's heart, two more lives moved impatiently toward all of them.

Bryson kissed her temple.

“Happy?”

The question carried her backward five years to a dance floor beneath artificial stars.

She smiled.

“So happy.”

His hand tightened around hers.

“You know what I was thinking about?”

Amelia looked up at him. “That sounds dangerous.”

Bryson ignored her. “Our wedding.”

Her smile softened. “What about it?”

“You told me you didn't know life could look like that.”

Amelia remembered.

She looked around the room again.

“No,” she said quietly. “I didn't.”

Bryson's gaze followed hers.

Their son was laughing with Claire and Roderick's little boy. Mariel had climbed into Marcus's lap. Lila leaned against Armando with his hand resting protectively over hers and their unborn child. Claire was laughing at something Roderick whispered into her ear. Beverly was showing Maddie something on her phone while Graham stood laughing with Charles and Quincy. Evan's hand rested naturally against Martina's back as they looked at Maya's latest painting on her phone.

Their family filled the room.

Some were connected by blood, some by marriage and some by nothing more complicated than years of showing up for one another until nobody remembered there had ever been a time when they didn't belong.

Bryson looked back at his wife.

“What about now?”

Amelia's eyes filled.

She placed her hand over his where it rested on their unborn children.

“Now I know.”

He smiled. “More than you knew?”

Amelia laughed softly. “You've been waiting five years to use that again?”

“Possibly.”

“Corny.”

“You married me.”

“I did.”

“And you'd do it again.”

Amelia looked at him, at the faint silver that had only just begun to appear near his temples, at the wedding band still on his hand and at the man who had loved her fiercely without ever asking her to disappear inside that love.

Then she smiled.

“In every lifetime.”

Something in Bryson's expression softened before he leaned forward and kissed her.

Behind them, one of the children yelled, something crashed and Bruce shouted from the kitchen before Marcus used somebody's full name in the unmistakable tone that meant the children had finally gone too far.

Amelia started laughing against Bryson's mouth.

He pulled back. “We should probably check that.”

“Probably.”

Neither moved.

“Mommy!”

Amelia closed her eyes.

Bryson laughed. “Definitely.”

He stood first and held out his hand.

Amelia looked at it.

Five years ago, she had taken that hand and walked toward a life she could not fully imagine.

Now she knew what waited on the other side.

Not perfection.

Something infinitely better.

There were children who filled their home with noise and toys and laughter, parents who had become grandparents, friends who had become siblings and people who had survived enough together that the distinction between friendship and family had long ago stopped mattering.

There was Lila preparing to become a mother, Claire raising a little boy with Roderick, Beverly and Graham collecting countries and memories together, Maya turning the talent she'd once been afraid to show anyone into a life of her own, and Marcus hearing his sister's name called through the house by a little girl who adored him.

There was grief that no longer hurt every time it was touched and love that had become so ordinary in Amelia's life that sometimes she almost forgot there had been a time when she hadn't known what it felt like.

Most of all, there was Bryson.

Still reaching for her.

Still choosing her.

Still looking at her as though five years, two children and two more on the way had done nothing except give him more reasons to love her.

Amelia placed her hand in his.

He helped her to her feet and immediately slipped an arm around her waist.

“Careful.”

She looked at him. “Bryson.”

“Four children have not cured me.”

“Clearly.”

“And they're not going to.”

Amelia smiled. “I know.”

Together, they walked toward the noise, toward their children, toward their family and toward whatever came next.

Five years ago, Amelia had thought the wedding was the happy ending.

It wasn't.

It had only been the beginning.

The happiness was here, in all the ordinary days that followed. It lived in crooked crowns and ruined haircuts, Sunday dinners and crowded kitchens, little boys racing through hallways and tiny shoes forgotten beneath furniture. It was in Lila's hand resting over her first child, Claire laughing beside her husband and son, Beverly and Graham planning another trip before they had fully unpacked from the last one, Maya signing her name to paintings strangers wanted to take home, and Marcus hearing Mariel without grief being the first thing that answered.

It was in their parents' laughter and their friends' familiar voices. It was in Bryson's hand finding Amelia's without thought and in the two tiny hearts beating beneath her own.

It was the beautiful, imperfect, wonderfully loud life Amelia had finally allowed herself to believe she deserved.

Bryson glanced down at her as they reached the doorway.

“What?”

She hadn't realized she was staring at him.

Amelia smiled and tightened her fingers around his.

“Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She laughed.

“Everything.”

And with Bryson's hand wrapped around hers, their children calling for them and two more lives waiting to join the family they had built, Amelia walked forward into a future filled with more love, more happiness and more life than she had ever known to ask for.

More than she knew.