Page 88 of Never Quite Gone

I thought of Will as he had been in this life – my brother, my supporter, the boy who had loved us all so much he broke reality trying to keep us safe. Thought of Vale, who had tried to protect us even when his methods went wrong. Their graves would remind us that love itself was enough, without trying to make it eternal.

“We should get breakfast,” Eli said pragmatically, making me laugh at the beautiful normality of it. “I have surgery at noon, and you probably have an empire to run.”

“Breakfast sounds perfect,” I agreed, loving him for this gift of ordinary moments. “There's a place near the hospital that makes excellent coffee.”

We stepped out into full morning, leaving the mansion's historic wing behind. The memories continued settling into their new, gentler forms as we walked away from ancient magic toward modern life. I remembered everything that had brought us here, but the remembering felt like gratitude now. Like appreciation for paths that had led us to this particular present.

One life, one love, and all the courage it took to choose the present over the pull of the past. No more cycles, no more patterns, no more desperate attempts to make love eternal.

Just this: morning light and warm hands and the promise of coffee before work. Just the simple magic of choosing each other every day, knowing that nothing lasted forever and loving anyway.

Just the quiet miracle of being fully, completely, wonderfully mortal.

Together.

Epilogue

One Year Later

Iwoke to sunlight and the unmistakable aroma of Alex's coffee-making ritual. He'd become something of an expert over the past year, determined to master the perfect brew. Our new brownstone filled with morning sounds that felt both ordinary and miraculous – water running in the kitchen, the coffee grinder's precise burr, his quiet humming as he worked.

My hands were perfectly steady as I removed Michael's ring, placing it carefully in the carved box on my dresser. It sat beside our wedding photo and a small sketch that somehow survived time. Today Michael's ring would be joined by my engagement ring from Alex, making space for the wedding band that would take its place in a few hours.

The morning light caught the architectural plans spread across my desk – final approvals for the hospital expansion that had brought us together in the first place. The Vale Wing had been completely renovated, its new trauma center already saving lives with an efficiency that would have made him proud. Will's name graced the new research facility, its modern design somehow complementing the historic architecture he'd loved somuch.

Alex had handled everything perfectly, merging past and present in ways that honored both. The original operating theater had been preserved as a medical history exhibit, while the new emergency department expansion gave us twice the space and the most advanced equipment available. Even Sofia had approved of the final designs, particularly the meditation garden where the old courtyard had been – a space for healing that needed no magic to feel sacred.

The project that had started everything was finally complete. Tomorrow would be the official opening ceremony, but today... today was about us, about choosing each other in this one precious life.

There was also the issue of Will’s passing and telling their father about it.

We'd stood in his study, surrounded by generations of Rothschild success, trying to explain an unexplainable loss.

“An accident,” Alex had said, his voice steady despite everything. “In the hospital's historic wing.”

William Rothschild III had sat very still behind his massive desk, his eyes fixed on the space where Will used to stand during family meetings. “My son,” he'd said finally, “was many things. But careless was never one of them.”

“Dad—” Alex had started, but his father raised a hand.

“Our family,” he'd continued carefully, “has always had... unusual qualities. Patterns that repeat. Connections that defy explanation.” His gaze had shifted between Alex and me, seeing more than we'd said. “Will used to talk about dreams. About memories that couldn't be his. About watching people he loved die over and over.”

The silence that followed felt heavy with unspoken understanding. “I never understood what he meant,” William had admitted. “But I watched him follow you through life, Alex. Watched him try to protect you from something I couldn't see.” His hands trembled slightly as he opened a drawer, removing an old journal. “He left this for me. Said if anything happened to him, I should read it.”

“Father, we can explain?—”

“Can you?” Will's father's smile held grief and knowledge both. “Can you explain why my son's journal contains detailed accounts of lives he couldn't possibly have lived? Why he wrote about ancient temples and Renaissance courts and watching his brother die lifetime after lifetime?”

Alex's hand had found mine, steady despite everything. “Would you believe us if we tried?”

“I believe,” William had said quietly, “that love makes impossible things possible. That my sons were always meant for unusual fates.” His eyes met mine directly. “And that sometimes the greatest gift we can give those we love is letting them go.”

The memory faded as Alex called from downstairs, something about Rachel arriving early. I finished dressing quickly, hearing my sister's voice mixing with the morning sounds. Her daughter's happy gurgle brought an immediate smile to my face.

“There's my favorite niece,” I said, coming downstairs to find Alex already cradling baby Sarah with practiced ease. The sight made my heart do something complicated and wonderful.

“She's your only niece,” Rachel laughed, but her eyes were soft watching Alex with her daughter. “And she's already got her uncle wrapped around her tiny fingers.”

The morning dew still clung to grass as we made our way through the cemetery. Rachel had taken Sarah home to nap, promising to return for the ceremony. The quiet moment with Michael's grave felt right – including one love while celebrating another.

---