Page 198 of Mason

His hand drifts back to my stomach, thumb brushing slow circles there.

“I’m gonna screw this up sometimes,” he says quietly. “Not on purpose. But I will.”

“We both will.”

“But I’ll show up,” he says. “Every day. Every night. I’ll be there. I’ll try. I’ll love her with every piece of me, even the broken ones.”

I don’t cry.

But I want to.

Because this—this man, this moment—isn’t just the future. It’s thehealingof every jagged past I thought I had to carry alone.

I press my forehead to his. Let my lips brush his jaw.

“We’re not perfect, Mason,” I whisper.

“But we’re enough,” he murmurs back.

And somehow… we are.

The rain keeps falling. The world keeps spinning.

But here, in the cradle of his arms and the future blooming quietly between us—we’re steady.

We’re home.

And we’re not going anywhere.

EPILOGUE - MASON 3 YEARS LATER

There’s a sock on the chandelier.

I don’t know how it got there.

And honestly? I’m too tired to ask.

The house smells like maple syrup and shampoo. Shelby’s shampoo—the kind I use every time I think she won’t notice. But she always does.

I walk barefoot down the hall, coffee in one hand, Lily in the other. She’s talking. Nonstop. Something about dragons and cupcakes and how the moon followed her home last night and how she’s “basically an astronaut now.”

I grunt in response.

Not because I’m annoyed. Because I’m wrecked. Wrapped. Gone for this kid.

She’s got Shelby’s eyes. Big, a dark forest green, full of questions and mischief and moonlight. She’s got my mouth—my scowl when she doesn’t get her way, which is ninety percent of the time.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She’s also chewing on my necklace.

“Sweetheart,” I say, prying it from her teeth, “we’ve talked about this.”

She beams up at me. Two tiny dimples. Full of smiles.

“I’m teefin’, Daddy.”

“You’ve been teething for two years.”

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