“Then let’s go home.”
He tucked her scarf carefully around her neck and let Hyde grow large enough to shield her from the cold wind as they walked.
People waved goodbye and Flora blew them a kiss. The town had accepted them, but more importantly, he had accepted himself and that made all the difference.
They walked home through the quiet streets, snow crunching underfoot and the stars bright overhead. Chloe leaned against his side, trusting him to keep her safe. And he would. Always. Both of them would. Man and monster, finally, beautifully, completely at peace.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked as they reached their house.
He looked at the warm lights glowing in the windows and the wreath on the door. The home they’d made together.
“How lucky I am,” he said. “How grateful.”
“Me too.” She squeezed his hand. “Every single day.”
He promised himself that he would never take it for granted. Not the woman who’d saved him. Not the child they would raise together. Not the monster who’d become his greatest strength instead of his deepest shame.
EPILOGUE
Three months later…
Chloe reachedout and found cool sheets where Victor should have been. It wasn’t a surprise—she’d stopped being startled by his nighttime disappearances weeks ago. She knew exactly where he was. She smiled and walked quietly down the hallway, her bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor.
The nursery door stood ajar, the warm glow of the moon lamp they’d bought at the Yuletide Festival spilling across the floor. She padded barefoot across the hardwood. Her body still felt foreign two months postpartum. Softer in some places and firmer in others, but strong and capable.
She paused in the doorway and saw Victor was exactly where she expected him to be, sitting in the rocking chair with their daughter cradled against his chest. His eyes glowed green in the dim light and a deep, rumbling purr vibrated through the room.
Hyde. Or Victor. Or both. They blurred together these days, especially around the baby.
“She’s asleep,” she whispered.
Green eyes looked up and met hers. “I know.”
“Then why are you still holding her?”
“Because she’s perfect.”
Her heart squeezed. Two months of this—two months of watching the brilliant, controlled Dr. Jackson turn into a complete puddle around their daughter.
Angel Rose Jackson. Seven pounds, three ounces. She had dark brown hair like Chloe’s and eyes that shifted between grey and green depending on her mood.
The most loved baby in Fairhaven Falls.
Possibly the world.
“You’ve been in here for an hour,” she said softly.
“She was fussy.”
“She’s been asleep for forty-five minutes.”
He looked down at the baby in his arms, at her tiny fist curled against his shirt and her rosebud mouth making soft sucking motions even in sleep.
“She might wake up.”
“Then we’ll hear her on the monitor.”
“What if she needs something?”
