Page 139 of Brutal Truths

Aiden is behind me now. “Is that true?”

I lean into him and say with confidence. “I have no fucking clue, but what’s the harm in letting her believe she did, even if it’s a little white lie.”

Resting my head back against him, I let the moment settle around us. The gallery feels different now. Not empty or heavy… just quieter.

I take it all in.

What I’ve lost, what I’ve found, and everything in between. It’s not perfect. Nothing ever is. But this is my life, my reality. And for now… it’s enough.

Epilogue

One Year Later

Aiden

It’s been an interesting year.

I’ve gone from living alone to sharing space with more women than I planned to tolerate. Turns out, it takes a shitload of patience I didn’t know I possessed.

My wife likes to remind me daily that I’m the one who insisted on the arrangement. She’s right, as always.

Wife.

Still my favorite word. Isabel has been mine for nine months now. We held off until she finished her placement, or what I learned after doing my research was known as her foundation years. We made it official during her short break between. Which I refused to waste and took her on a honeymoon, leaving Alma in capable hands with Jen and Misty. Now she’s started her next phase—Internal Medical Training. A three-year commitment.

And if she follows through on cardiology, which she will, she’ll have to train for another five years after this. Long road. Explains why doctors charge what they do.

Which brings me back to my current arrangement.

I spend my days at the new training facility in Soulcombe, preparing our new recruits, so they’re ready for whatever hell Darius plans to put them through. That means I’m not always around to protect her. And now that she’s mine, I make the call who does.

No more incompetent guards. No weak links. No mistakes. Every guard female—no need to stir my jealous side. Only the best make the cut.

Especially now, after what I found sitting on the bathroom counter this morning. A test with a note: You’re right.

I bought the test because I wasn’t convinced her tiredness was from her fifty-five hour weeks and unpredictable schedules that rotated between day and night shifts, throwing in a weekend once a month. It was more. Her hours may differ from before, but not by much.

Turns out, I know my wife’s body better than she does.

“Need anything before I leave, Mr. Bishop?” Alma’s nurse asks, stepping into the kitchen where I’m grabbing a quick snack.

“We’re good. Izzy should be home soon. Anything I need to know?” I decide on an apple and take a bite.

“Today’s been a good day. She’s out in the garden painting.” Her voice is steady, but her cheeks are slightly flushed. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

I take another bite, watching her. “You feeling okay?”

She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Yes. Fine.”

I don’t buy it. “You look a little flushed. Sure you’re not coming down with something?”

“Just the sun,” she says, brushing it off.

Not wanting to push her I go ahead and make the call. “Take the day tomorrow. I’m off, so is Izzy. We can handle Alma. If we need you, we’ll call. You’ve earned it.”

“I won’t turn that down, but I promise you I’m fine.” She gathers her stuff and glances toward the garden. “We’ve spent most of the day outside. She insisted. Said the light’s better.”

“Right,” I say. “Better go see what masterpiece she’s painting now.”