"I’m scared for her," I admit quietly. "For Mom. What if she doesn’t learn how to take care of herself?"
"She will," Brooks says with certainty. "She’s already trying."
I nod, not because I fully believe it, but because I want to.
"I just wish Dad could see all of this," I say.
Brooks squeezes my hand. "He’d be proud. Of all of you."
"Next week, Jasper leaves for Houston. He says he’s chasing the stars. I think he's just following his heart finally."
"I think so, too," Brooks agrees.
I rest my head on his shoulder. He smells like soap and summer and something earthy, like he’s always just been out fixing something. Making things right.
"You know," he says, voice low, "when you left… I didn’t think you’d come back."
"I wasn’t sure I would either," I admit. "But it turns out home isn’t something you outgrow. Not really. It just waits."
He squeezes my hand. "So what now?"
"Now?" I glance up at him. "Now we live. Not perfectly. Not pain-free. And honestly. With each other."
He smiles, soft and sure. "I can do that."
I tilt my chin up, catching his eyes in the starlight. "I’m really glad you didn’t give up on me."
"Never could," he says. "Believe me, I tried."
We both laugh quietly, and I lean in, brushing my lips against his.
It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just steady. Sure.
Like us.
Like coming home.
When we finally pull apart, the world feels still. But not empty. Not hollow. Just quiet. Full of what could be.
Brooks wraps an arm around my shoulder and we look out into the night.
A new chapter is waiting.
And this time, we’ll write it together.
EPILOGUE
One Year Later
The first time I went viral, I was wearing a linen dress and holding a coffee I didn’t even like.
I remember watching the notifications roll in like waves—fast, loud, relentless. Everyone wanted to know what I was wearing, what my skincare routine was, what shade of lipstick I had on. For a while, I thought that kind of attention meant something. That it meantImeant something.
But no one can’t measure the depth of their life by how many people double-tap a curated square on their phones.
It’s been a year since I came home. Since everything unraveled, and then—slowly, stubbornly—stitched itself back together.
We’re not perfect. Not even close. But we’re real. And that’s enough.
