Epilogue 1: The Truth

Epilogue 1: The Truth
Josie's POV

I woke up to an empty bed and a sliver of sunlight dancing across the sheets. Dylan's side was already cool to the touch. My hand instinctively reached for my phone to check the time—8:00 AM. Not too early, but definitely earlier than I'd planned to wake up today.

Today wasn't just any day. It marked exactly one year since Dylan and I had registered our marriage. With our official wedding ceremony just weeks away in mid-December, I wanted this anniversary to be special. I'd spent the past week secretly visiting a boutique perfumery in SoHo, learning to blend scents that reminded me of us.

The small crystal bottle sat waiting in my nightstand drawer. I retrieved it carefully, running my thumb across the custom etched label: _For the man who changed everything_. The perfumer had assured me it was a unique composition, one that couldn't be replicated. Just like us.

After washing up, I dressed in fitted jeans and a soft knit top, then threw on my favorite denim jacket. I slipped the perfume bottle into my pocket and headed downstairs, expecting to find him and Cookie in the kitchen or garden.

The house was quiet, though Cookie's bowl had been recently filled. I wandered through the living room, then heard movement from the kitchen.

"Dylan?" I called out.

He appeared in the doorway wearing an apron over his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight of him like this—domestic, relaxed, yet somehow still so commanding—never failed to make my heart skip.

"Good morning," he smiled, walking over to place a kiss on my forehead. "I was hoping to bring breakfast up to you in bed."

"Sorry to ruin your plans," I grinned, breathing in the heavenly smell of whatever he was cooking. "What's all this?"

Dylan took my hand, leading me to the kitchen where a feast awaited: Belgian waffles with fresh berries, eggs benedict, a French press of my favorite coffee, and a small vase with a single white rose.

"Happy anniversary," he said softly.

"You remembered," I whispered, though I wasn't really surprised. Dylan never forgot important dates.

"Of course I did." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "One year ago today, you agreed to become Mrs. Brooks. How could I possibly forget that?"

We enjoyed breakfast together, talking about everything and nothing. The way his eyes never left mine as I spoke made me feel like the most fascinating person in the world. When Dylan Brooks gave you his attention, it was complete and undivided.

"I have something for you," I said when we finished eating, pulling out the small crystal bottle. "It's not much compared to everything you've done, but..."

Dylan carefully took the bottle, his expression curious. He removed the stopper and inhaled, his eyes closing briefly. When they reopened, they were darker, more intense.

"You made this?" he asked, his voice low.

I nodded. "With some professional help. Do you like it?"

"It's perfect," he said, applying a small amount to his wrist. "Thank you, Josie."

His genuine appreciation made me flush with pleasure.

"I have something for you too," Dylan said, standing up. "But you'll need to come with me."

He pulled out a silk scarf from his pocket. "May I?"

I nodded, turning so he could tie it gently over my eyes. His hands on my shoulders guided me through the house, then outside where I could feel the morning sun warming my skin.

"Watch your step," he murmured near my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. We walked a little further, and I could smell the garden roses getting stronger.

When he removed the scarf, I gasped.

We were standing in the garden gazebo, but it had been transformed. Thousands of flowers filled every surface, their fragrance heady in the morning air. Delicate strands of pearls and crystals hung from the ceiling, catching the light and casting rainbow prisms across the wooden floor. But what caught my eye was at the center—a small white teddy bear sitting on a cushion.

"Is that..." I stepped forward, confused. "Is that the bear from your office?"

Dylan's expression was a mixture of tenderness and something deeper I couldn't quite name. "You noticed it there?"

"The day I came to your office for help with Gray Industries," I admitted. "I always wondered about it."

Dylan picked up the bear, its white fur soft and pristine despite clearly being years old. "I bought this for you eleven years ago."

"For me?" I was genuinely confused now.

"The night you first came to the Brooks house," he explained, his voice quiet. "You were twelve, terrified, running a fever. Your parents had just died, and you looked so small in that big bed."

My breath caught. I remembered that night vividly—the storm, the fear, the overwhelming grief.

"I sat with you all night," Dylan continued. "You kept having nightmares, crying out for your parents. I held your hand until you finally settled. A month later, just before coming home from Europe, I picked this up at a toy store. I couldn't stop thinking about that night, and I wanted to give you something to hold onto when you felt afraid."

I stared at the bear, then at Dylan, unable to process what I was hearing. "But... but I thought... that night, when I woke up the next morning, there was a handkerchief on my nightstand. Connor's handkerchief."

Dylan nodded slowly. "I found it in the hallway. Figured Connor had dropped it there earlier. I brought it in with me, left it there by accident when I finally had to leave for my flight."

"All these years," I whispered, "I thought Connor was the one who stayed with me that night. I thought he was the one who held my hand." So Connor... he just found me the next morning?

"When I came back a month later," Dylan said with a small, sad smile, "you and Connor had become inseparable. You barely looked at me. It seemed... inappropriate to give you the bear then. So I kept it."

I reached out, touching the bear's soft ear, then Dylan's hand. "That was you? All this time?"

"It was always me, Josie," he said simply. "I've wanted to tell you since we married, but I was scared of reopening old wounds. I needed your love to be real, not born from gratitude. But today, on our anniversary, I want no secrets between us. You should know how we really began."

I felt tears welling in my eyes. Every memory of that night rearranged itself in my mind—the strong hand holding mine, the soft voice telling me I was safe, the feeling that somehow, despite everything, I wasn't alone.

"You've owed me a thank you for about eleven years now," Dylan said, his teasing tone lightening the moment.

Without thinking, I stood on tiptoe and kissed him deeply, my hands on either side of his face. "Thank you," I whispered against his lips. "For taking care of me then. For taking care of me now."

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer as the morning sunlight streamed through the gazebo, illuminating us in a gentle glow. It felt like coming home—like I'd finally found the missing piece of a puzzle I hadn't even known was incomplete.

"I should probably tell you," I murmured against his chest, "I've been secretly practicing how to say 'I do' for our wedding. I'm getting pretty good at it."

Dylan's laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is that so?"

I nodded, looking up at him. "Want to hear me practice?"

His eyes softened. "More than anything."

In the flower-filled gazebo, with my gift in his pocket and his gift—both the bear and the truth—in my arms, I whispered the words I'd be saying in front of everyone in just a few weeks. The words that, in my heart, had already been true for longer than I'd realized.