I was home. In love.
Holy.
Epilogue
SILAS
Soft,golden light poured through the window like a blessing.
June sat in her chair, curled up with a Bible in one hand, a pen in the other, and our son cradled against her chest like he’d always belonged there. Asa was fast asleep, tiny fist curled under his chin, his breath slow and steady against the curve of her collarbone. June kept murmuring to herself as she read, probably shaping tomorrow’s sermon line by line, lips moving in that quiet, thoughtful way she had when the Spirit spoke to her.
I didn’t say anything at first—didn’t want to interrupt. Just stood there in the doorway like a man who’d stumbled into heaven and wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to stay.
She was in her PJs, hair in a braid that had mostly come undone, sleeves of an oversized flannel—my flannel—rolled up to her elbows. The blanket wrapped around Asa had slipped a little, and she paused long enough to tuck it back in place, her palm lingering at his back like she couldn’t help herself.
God, I knew the feeling.
I stepped into the room, careful not to make the floorboards creak. June looked up anyway, smiling at me like she’d felt me coming before I’d moved an inch.
“Hey, preacher,” I said softly, coming to kneel beside her chair.
“Hey, husband,” she whispered back.
I reached up to touch her face, brushing my thumb across her cheek. Then I leaned forward and kissed Asa’s dark little head, right at the crown where his hair was starting to curl.
“You two been workin’ hard?” I asked.
June nodded. “He’s helping me write about healing.”
I huffed a soft laugh. “Seems like he’s got a good teacher.”
She kissed me before I could say anything else—light and warm, with all the certainty of a woman who had come through fire and made something holy on the other side.
I stayed kneeling there with them, my head resting against her knee, one hand curled gently around her ankle. The windows were open, the curtains stirring in the breeze, and outside the air smelled like rain and rosemary. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear children playing in the park…the park where our child would play someday soon.
For a long time, neither of us said anything.
We didn’t have to.
The world was quiet in the way it only ever got when you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
I looked up at her again—my wife, my home, the second love of my life—and then at the baby in her arms. He huffed a breath and his brow furrowed, like he was deep in thought…just like his mama.
“You been talkin’ philosophy to him?” I asked, looking up at her. “He looks…serious.”
“He’s got deep thoughts,” June shrugged. “Can’t help it. Must’ve gotten it from his dad.”
I grinned. “Poor kid. Didn’t stand a chance.”
June chuckled under her breath and leaned forward to press a kiss to my temple. “He’s lucky,” she whispered. “Got two smart parents.”
My throat went tight. I let my fingers trace slow circles against her ankle, grounding myself in the quiet miracle of it all—this house, this woman, this child.
Everything I’d once thought I wasn’t meant to have.
“Think he’ll be happy here?” I asked.
June looked around the room like she could already see Asa growing into the space—toddling across the floor, dragging books off the shelves, chasing fireflies in the yard, getting paint on his overalls from something his cousin talked him into.
