The past is over.
We’re going to rewrite our stories.
Epilogue 1
I’m staring out the window as Theo buckles the girls into his car.
Bruno is trying to help him with the child seats my friend installed in the back just for them, but my Hana is making them sweat.
It’s incredible how, despite being twins, their personalities couldn’t be more different.
While Aisha is observant and introspective like her father, Hana is a whirlwind—she never stops for a second and always has a story to tell in her own baby language.
She also drives my husband crazy with her mischief.
What can I say? We keep a stock of band-aids at home.
Bruno is the perfect balance between the two of them.
He takes his role as big brother very seriously—and he’s the only one who can actually rein in Hana’s temper. One disapproving look from him works better than any order or plea from us.
He’s changed so much over the years, and I think I can finally say that he’s a happy boy now. There’s nothing left of the fragile, skinny child who came to live with us. He’s strong, tall, and according to Amos, he’s going to be a future football star.
He passed the tryouts for the school’s junior league and now plays for our town’s youth football team. He practices three to four times a week, and whenever I can juggle the twins and my studio, I’m there to watch him.
But honestly, I don’t think he even misses me there—because for Amos, taking him to practice is sacred. He plans his life around the kids’ activities and never misses a single important moment for Bruno.
I’ve cried more than once, hidden behind a door, watching them together.
I remember one moment in particular when Bruno came home from school visibly upset. Amos noticed right away and called him over to talk.
Bruno wanted to know if, because he wasn’t our biological child, he was an obligation. Apparently, one of the kids at school had said something like that—and it hurt him.
My heart overflowed with love when I heard Amos say,“You’ll never be an obligation. I’m the luckiest dad in the world because I got to choose my little boy.”
He repeated the exact same words his adoptive mother once told him, and I know in some way that was healing for him too.
“But you didn’t have any other options. How do you know you would’ve chosen me if you’d had others?”Bruno tried to argue.
“I just know, son. I would choose you every time. I would never miss the chance to be your dad.”
And when my little boy—so young yet already carrying so much emotional weight—wrapped his arms around my husband’s neck, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
“I love you, Daddy. I’d choose you every time, too.”
Pushing the memory aside, I glance at the clock. I need to hurry if I want to pull off my plan.
Today is our wedding anniversary, and I’ve got something special in mind.
My husband loves to play, and tonight, I plan to knock him off-balance a bit.
I’m leaving a new lingerie boutique Martina recommended, distracted as usual and carrying way too many shopping bags, when a woman bumps into me.
Both my things and the books she’s carrying scatter on the floor. She looks so embarrassed that I completely forget about my own bags and start helping her pick everything up.
Her hair is a deep chestnut, nearly black, and her skin is golden. Her clothes seem far too big for her small frame.
She looks uncomfortable around me. She still hasn’t made eye contact, and I wonder if she’s upset about the bump, though I’m not even sure whose fault it was.
