Because for the first time in a long time, she believed it: They were going to be okay.
All of them.
Pete and Danica, already falling into the rhythm of teasing and tenderness that would carry them through. Izzy and Kiera, buzzing with contagious, reckless joy. Danica’s mom and aunt, fussing like they’d adopted the whole table, which — honestly — they probably had. Even Lillian, who had shown up late but with her whole heart, sliding in like she’d been part of this crew forever.
And Gwen.
Gwen, who’d come when Maggie needed her most, who’d sat with her on the dock and finally said the words Maggie had been dying to hear. Who was sitting beside her now, their knees brushing under the table, her smile quiet and steady like it had nowhere else to be.
Maggie let the sounds wash over her — the laughter, the clink of forks, the gentle lap of the lake against the dock. For once, no sharp edge waited to cut through it. No lies hidden. Just warmth. Just presence.
She didn’t know exactly what came next — therapy, hard talks, maybe another move or two before they found their footing again. But that was the point. She could finally imagine a future without flinching.
She took another sip of her juice, smiled into her glass, and thought:This is what love feels like.
This table. These people. This love — messy, bruised, stitched together with laughter and grace and forgiveness.
All of them.
EPILOGUE
Maggie
One year later
The fire had burneddown to embers, a steady orange heartbeat inside the stone hearth. Maggie curled into the corner of the couch with a paperback open on her knees, reading the same sentence three times.
Upstairs, she could hear Gwen’s voice: low, patient, and steady, the way it always was when bedtime stretched too long. A door shut. Water rushed briefly in the hall bath. Then a soft thump — Rosie’s duck hitting carpet, probably. The twins had fought over the top bunk for a full ten minutes before deciding they hated it and wanted the bottom together. Rosie, in her “stories with feelings” era, had requested three: one funny, one brave, one with a funny and brave dragon. Gwen obliged. Of course she did.
Maggie marked her place and listened, smiling like a thief getting away with something. The book was good, but this was better.
She’d forgotten, once, how much she loved this part… the in-between hum of their life. For a long time, the house had been brittle silence, every interaction sharp at the edges. Now it felt… whole. Different.
Gwen padded down a minute later, sweater sleeves shoved to her elbows, hair loosely falling around her face. She dropped onto the couch beside Maggie and cuddled close.
“All three down,” Gwen reported, pressing her cold toes into Maggie’s thigh. “Rosie’s duck is fine. The twins’ dignity, less so.”
Maggie tilted her face for a kiss, got two. “Tragic.”
They fell into quiet again, but not the old careful kind. This was the comfortable silence that came after long drives, unpacked groceries, and the chaos of discovering mittens in the wrong box. The chilly Colorado night pressed against the windows, deep and cold and full of stars. The fire popped and resettled.
Maggie traced the seam of Gwen’s sleeve with her thumb and let her mind drift. Gwen hadn’t touched her work computer all weekend. Maggie knew because she’d been keeping score — not to catch her out, but to marvel. A year ago, Gwen would’ve been tethered to her inbox even here on a family vacation in a small Colorado mountain town, frowning at deadlines while the kids begged for attention. Now, with her firm — her own firm — she chose the projects she wanted. Historic renovations, not leveled lots and boxy disgraces in their wake. No clients who treated her like a line item. No bosses reminding her she was almost but not quite enough. Gwen was finally building the work life she’d always deserved.
And Maggie was building, too. Just in smaller, messier ways. Found & Chosen gave her a paycheck and a reason to leave the house, sure, but it was more than that: Colette’s chaos had a way of rubbing off on her. Between the stacks of vintage curiosities and treasures, Maggie had found herself laughing and creating art again. Little canvases smuggledonto the counter. Bowls from Tuesday night ceramics at the Y, lopsided but hers. She’d tucked some of them into Gwen’s office — by the window, on the shelf behind the desk. Gwen never called them “cute.” She’d once said, “This one makes the room feel less heavy.” Maggie hadn’t cried in front of her, but she’d come close.
Grief had a funny way of ebbing and flowing through her days, but she was learning to let the waves of it flow through her instead of pull her under. To accept that some days, the ache of missing her mom was so palpable, and other times, she went days without thinking about that heavy loss.
Gwen shifted, pulling Maggie closer. “Tomorrow’s going to be chaos.”
“Mm.” Maggie could already see it: Pete and Danica pulling up with Gladys, who would barrel into the snow like she’d been released from a prison cell. Izzy and Kiera lugging in a tote full of board games. Eliza and Quinn racing through the house to claim their “kingdom.” Their first family vacation, here in the mountains. A new place on purpose.
“I put extra blankets in the bunk room,” Maggie murmured. “And sleds in the mudroom. Cocoa mix is on the counter.”
“Prepared as ever,” Gwen teased.
“Someone has to be. You saw the text — Eliza’s in her ‘more marshmallows than cocoa’ era.”
“What an era,” Gwen repeated, amused.
