And for the first time, I don’t wonder if he’ll leave.
Epilogue
Ella - One month later
If you’d asked me a year ago what happiness looked like, I would’ve described something loud. Something dramatic. Something that announced itself.
Turns out, it’s quieter than that. It’s Nathan stealing my coffee mug and pretending he didn’t. It’s us somehow managing to be everywhere and nowhere at once.
We’ve been inseparable.
Not in the movie-trailer way.
In the way that feels… easy.
We make love in places we probably shouldn’t. We laugh like teenagers. We fall asleep tangled together and wake up as if we’d forgotten where one of us ends, and the other begins. And every now and then, I catch myself just watching him exist. Like my brain still hasn’t caught up to the fact that this is real.
Ashton once told me that there’s someone out there for everyone. I used to think that was a nice lie people tell themselves to avoid feeling alone. Now I think it’s more complicated than that.
I think life breaks you open.
And then, sometimes—if you’re lucky—it puts something in the space where the damage used to be. Not to replace what was lost. But to prove you’re still capable of holding something good.
I don’t believe in coincidences anymore. Not after Nathan. Not after everything.
Scarlett never went to prison. The court declared her unfit and committed her to a secure psychiatric facility, where she will stay for the foreseeable future, getting the help she needs. In my heart, I know it’s the right place for her.
Which brings us to today, one month since Nathan came back to me.
He doesn’t know I’ve been counting. He’s not the kind of person who keeps track of dates like this.
But I am. It matters to me.
I’m in the bakery early, setting things up, when I hear the door open.
I don’t look up right away.
“Nathan?” I call.
I hear his footsteps.
Then arms slide around my waist.
A kiss presses into the side of my neck.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I answer, leaning back into him.
He releases me and moves toward the counter like he’s just… here. Like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Which, somehow, it is.
“It’s a special day today,” he says casually.
Something in my chest perks up before I can stop it. I turn toward him, trying not to look too obvious. “Oh?”
He grabs a cup, glances at me. “The Mariners are playing.”
