I settle deeper into the chair, my eyes on my family, and let myself finally, fully believe it.
We made it. Through all the fear and conflict and impossible obstacles.
We made it to the other side.
Together.
Epilogue - Emma
"—and we're projecting a forty percent sell-through in the first quarter, which exceeds our initial forecast by—Clara, no, sweetie, that's not for throwing—sorry, Andrea, what was that?"
My marketing director's laugh crackles through the phone. "I said, sounds like you have your hands full."
"You have no idea." I watch as my daughter—twenty-two months of pure cuteness wrapped in a pink onesie—picks up another block and launches it with surprising accuracy at her brother's head. James dodges at the last second, giggling like it's the best game ever invented. "But yes, the Bergdorf's launch. I'm thrilled. Tell them we can commit to the spring line being ready by March fifteenth."
"Will do. And Emma? Congratulations. This is huge."
The words settle in my chest, filling me with pride. Huge doesn't begin to cover it. Bergdorf Goodman—one of the most prestigious department stores in the country—carrying Essence. My formulas. My vision. My company.
"Thank you," I manage, my voice thick. "I couldn't have done it without the team."
We say our goodbyes, and I set my phone on the coffee table next to a half-constructed tower of blocks and what I'm pretty sure is a petrified piece of toast from breakfast three days ago.
The living room is a disaster.
Toys scattered across the plush rug Grant insisted we get after Clara learned to walk and immediately face-planted on the hardwoods. Picture books with bent pages stacked haphazardly beside the sofa. A laundry basket full of clean clothes I meant to fold yesterday—or was it the day before?—sitting in the corner like a silent accusation.
Two years ago, this space was pristine. All clean lines and expensive minimalism, the kind of bachelor's penthouse you'd see in a magazine spread. Sterile and beautiful and… completely devoid of life.
Now it's chaos. Beautiful, exhausting, perfect chaos.
Grant emerges from the kitchen, and I can't help the way my heart does that stupid flutter thing it's been doing since I was a teenager. He's in jeans and a t-shirt that's seen better days, his hair disheveled, a smear of what looks like mashed banana on his shoulder.
He's never looked better.
"Was that Andrea?" he asks, expertly dodging another block as Clara winds up for another throw.
"Yeah. Bergdorf's confirmed. We're launching the spring line in March."
The smile that spreads across his face is brilliant. "Emma, that's incredible. We should celebrate. Champagne? Dinner at—Clara Marie Cross, we do not throw food at people."
Our daughter freezes mid-wind-up, a piece of actual banana in her fist this time, her eyes going wide with exaggerated innocence. "No?"
"No." Grant's voice is firm but gentle. He crosses to her, kneeling down to her level. "If you're done eating, you can hand it to Daddy. Can you do that?"
She considers this for a moment, then very deliberately drops the banana on his head.
James dissolves into peals of laughter, falling over sideways in his mirth. I have to press my hand over my mouth to keep from joining him.
Grant looks up at me, banana sliding down his forehead. "You think this is funny?"
"Hilarious," I confirm.
He plucks the banana off his head with exaggerated dignity, then swoops Clara into the air. She shrieks with delight, her earlier defiance forgotten as he spins her in a circle.
"You," he tells her seriously, nose to nose, "are lucky you're so cute."
"Dada funny," she announces, patting his cheeks with sticky hands.
