Epilogue

Epilogue
The garden smelled like roses, fresh grass, and something sweet baking somewhere nearby, probably Samantha’s idea of emotional support cupcakes.

Neema stood just behind the archway, fingers clenched around her bouquet, heart beating so loud she was sure everyone could hear it. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, warm and golden, touching everything like a blessing. White chairs were set in neat rows on the lawn. Soft music drifted through the air, light and gentle.

This was it.

No ballroom. No spotlight. No spectacle. Just love. Just them, and it was perfect. Better than anything she had ever imagined.

Her mother fussed one last time, straightening the delicate straps of Neema’s dress. Samantha had outdone herself. The gown was simple and elegant, flowing instead of stiff, with soft lace that brushed Neema’s skin like a whisper. It felt like her. Comfortable. Honest. Strong without trying too hard.

“You look perfect,” her mother said, eyes already shiny.

Neema smiled. “Please don’t cry before I do.”

Her father stood nearby, leaning slightly on his cane, pride written all over his face. He cleared his throat. “If you trip walking down that aisle, I will pretend it was planned.”

She laughed. “Good to know.”

From where she stood, Neema could hear the low murmur of voices. Guests settling. Chairs creaking. Someone was coughing dramatically, probably Isaiah.

Then the music shifted.

Her breath caught.

“This is it,” Samantha whispered, squeezing her hand. “Go marry the love of your life.”

Neema stepped forward.

As she slowly walked down the aisle with her father, everything slowed.

She saw her mother first, seated in the front row, clasping her hands on her lap as she smiled approvingly. Vanessa sat beside them, smiling proudly, already dabbing at her eyes. Isaiah stood off to the side, serious as ever, scanning the garden like a threat might leap out of a rose bush. Samantha stood near the front, hands clasped, grinning as though she’d personally arranged the universe to make this happen.

And then… Quinton.

He stood beneath the arch, tall and solid and suddenly very still. He was wearing a suit that fit him perfectly.

And a tie.

An actual tie.

Neema almost laughed.

His eyes met hers, and the rest of the world fell away.

He looked nervous. Really nervous. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides. But when he smiled at her, it was the same smile that had undone her from the start. Soft. Certain. Full of something that said, I’m home.

Her chest tightened.

So much has happened, she thought as she walked toward him.

Pain. Fear. Fire. Loss. And also laughter. Safety. Healing.

She thought of the nights they’d talked quietly in bed. Of the day she’d helped him rescue a kitten, even before anything had started between them. Neema thought of the car crash and bullets. Of mornings spent arguing with Neveah about cat food. Of the hospital rooms. The insane amount of chocolate he still insisted on buying for her every month. The courtrooms. The moments when everything could have broken, and didn’t.

She thought of the IVF paperwork tucked away at home. Of injections and hope and fear all tangled together. Of Quinton’s arms around her as he’d said, ‘If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, we’re still us.’

She still wanted to try.

And for the first time, she wasn’t scared of wanting that.

When she reached him, Quinton took her hands. His palms were warm. Steady.

“You’re smiling,” she whispered.

“I’m trying not to faint,” he whispered back.

She snorted. “This is not the time.”

The officiant cleared his throat, smiling at them. Words followed, about love, about choice, about weathering storms together, but Neema barely heard them.

All she heard was her heartbeat. All she saw was Quinton.

When it was time for vows, her throat tightened, but she spoke anyway.

“I choose you,” she said, voice trembling but clear. “In the quiet. In the chaos. In the moments when life is kind and when it isn’t. I choose you.”

Quinton swallowed hard. “I choose you too,” he said. “Every day. No matter what.”

When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, the garden erupted.

Applause. Cheers. Someone whistled. Neveah threw flower petals into the air like confetti and beamed up at them, proud as anything.

Quinton kissed Neema, slow and sure, like there was nowhere else he’d ever rather be.

As they turned to face their friends and family, Neema laughed through happy tears.

She was married.

Loved.

Home.

And whatever came next, children or not, plans or surprises, she knew one thing for certain.

She wasn’t walking alone anymore. And that was just beautiful.

The end.

Thank you for reading. I hope you loved the story. Please check out more of my works (I have written over 20 stories so far)  or find me on social media: Laerep -Author - Laetitia.

Also, if you enjoyed the book, I would love to hear from you. Feel free to leave a review. 

Until the next adventure. Thanks!