Chapter 10 - Happily Ever After
Ten years later, the living room of our new home in the suburbs echoed with the sound of running feet, wrapping paper rustling, and bright, joyful laughter.
Brooklyn was eleven years old now—tall, athletic, fiercely intelligent, and possessed of a wonderful, unshakeable confidence that I always admired. She was currently helping her younger brother, seven-year-old Leo, assemble a complex Lego spaceship under the glowing branches of our massive Christmas tree.
Marcus walked into the living room holding two mugs of hot cider, handing one to me as I leaned against the back of the couch, watching the festive chaos unfold.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Marcus asked softly, smiling down at me with those same warm eyes I had fallen in love with all those years ago.
I took a sip of the sweet cider, letting the warmth spread through me. I looked across the room at my parents, who were sitting comfortably on the sofa, laughing as Aunt Linda told one of her famously exaggerated stories. Derek sat nearby, happily chatting with them about his upcoming travel plans.
“I was just thinking about that Christmas Eve phone call,” I admitted, a soft smile touching my lips. “Eleven years ago.”
Marcus chuckled, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against his side. “A lifetime ago. Do you ever hear anything about Mariah?”
I shook my head. “Not directly. Mom mentioned once that she’s still living in that Capitol Hill townhouse, still curating her online aesthetic, completely isolated from the rest of the family. She never married, never reached out, and never apologized.”
“Her loss,” Marcus said simply, kissing the top of my head.
“It is,” I agreed. “Because look at what we have instead.”
Right on cue, Brooklyn looked up from her Lego creation, her bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement as she ran over to us, holding up a completed starship model.
“Mom, Dad, look! We finished it!” she beamed proudly.
I knelt down, wrapping my arms around my daughter and pulling her close, breathing in the scent of shampoo and childhood.
“It’s amazing, sweetie,” I said, looking into her fearless, shining eyes. “Just like you.”
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Life wasn't a magazine spread. It wasn't curated for social media, and it certainly wasn't without its messy, complicated moments. But it was real. It was warm. It was filled with unconditional love, fierce loyalty, and the kind of happiness that no amount of staging could ever manufacture.
We had built our own happily ever after—not by pretending perfection, but by choosing each other, every single day.
