Page 126 of Wistful Whispers
Seamus returns to his seat beside me and takes my hand under the table, thumb stroking mine.
“Are you ready for forever?” I whisper, quiet enough for only him.
He turns to me, steady and soft. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Everything’s happening out of order.
A baby first. A proposal in a crowded restaurant. A future we didn’t anticipate.
None of it feels wrong.
Seamus is the right choice—no matter how and when he showed up.
I’m saying yes to all of it.
Epilogue
Seamus - One Year later
Familydinnerisalwaysorganized chaos.
Christmas at the McGloughlin household is a sensory overload of the highest order.
Especially now the clan is expanding exponentially.
Elias, snug against my chest in his wrap, lets out a long, suspiciously timed sigh. It sounds judgmental, honestly. Which is fair. His entire family is here, both my side and Marcella’s—and, as the newest member, he’s the center of attention.
He best get used to it. This is what his life is going to look like—too many people talking at once, someone always trying to feed him, and cousins who will absolutely teach him how to swear in Gaelic, English, and Spanish before preschool.
The front door’s wide open. No one’s bothered to close it in hours. Liam and Padraig are staging a Nerf war in the hallway. Connor’s got Teagan tugging on his shirt, wearing glitter antlers and no socks, like a feral elf. Cillian’s in the kitchen with his new wife, pretending to help while sneaking bites off ajamónplatter Rosa told him not to touch.
Marcella is perched next to Ronni on the window seat, glasses of Rioja in one hand. Her other hand rests absently over her belly like she hasn’t stopped protecting the space—even though he’s here in the world now. Her hair is loose. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s barefoot, glowing, and impossibly beautiful.
When she looks up and catches my eye, she mouths, “You okay?”
I nod, shifting Elias against my chest silently communicating,More than.
We got married last February at City Hall. The two of us and our parents and Elias in the form of a bump. Marcella wore white. No veil. Just her, wrapped in something soft and strong and stunning. There was no pressure. Her hand in mine and dinner with the entire clan at The Metropolitan Grill afterward.
For our honeymoon, we disappeared for a long weekend on Whidbey Island—three nights of stormy windows, warm tea, and her falling asleep on my chest while Elias shifted inside her like he had opinions.
Our son arrived in August. Seven pounds. Long fingers. All eyes.
Connor and Ronni brought him a miniature leather jacket with LTZ embroidered on the back. Liam and Padraig wrote him a lullaby. Cillian built his crib and set up his entire nursery. Brennan sent us a baby monitor with more features than my research lab, and Marcella’s family loaded us up with every gadget known to man.
Marcella’s mom and Ma now operate as a unit. They take turns showing up to “help” and have somehow merged into a two-woman holiday-planning task force no one dares interrupt. They cook, clean, fuss, and argue over nap schedules like it’s a team sport.
We need the help. I’m halfway through R6, one last long obstacle before this doctor life becomes mine on my own terms. The hours are still brutal. When I get home at 2 a.m., exhausted and wired and thinking I’ve got nothing left to give, I find Marcella asleep with Elias curled against her chest—I realize I’m the luckiest man on earth.
Marcella’s back to work—General Counsel at the Rainier Foundation. It’s different from the world she used to command. No courtroom battles. No cross-examinations. Strategy. Operations. Leadership. She’s thriving. She still runs on ambition and caffeine, with a softness now. A steadiness.
She’s letting herself have joy without guilt.
Like today. Joy personified.
The entire house smells like someone opened a spice market in the middle of a bakery—Ma’s brown-butter carrots and soda bread, Rosa’sarroz con pollo, garlic and saffron and thyme all layered on top of the familiar tang of something delicious roasting in the oven.
I’m wedged between Brennan and my dad, one leg propped up on the hearth, Elias’s pacifier tucked in my hoodie pocket like a secret weapon. He’ll need it soon.
