Epilogue: Ten Years Later
The air in the garden was crisp with the promise of autumn, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the lawn. The sound of children's laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of adult conversation. It was a perfect, ordinary Sunday.
I stood on the porch of our farmhouse, a glass of iced tea in my hand, and watched my life. Our life. It was a scene I could have never planned, a future more beautiful than any spreadsheet could have captured.
Ethan was on the lawn, a squealing, laughing seven-year-old girl perched on his shoulders. Our daughter, Eleanor, with my dark hair and her father's impossible blue-green eyes. He was chasing our son, a five-year-old boy named Dylan, who had his father's boundless energy and my serious, determined brow. Dylan's namesake, his uncle, was there too, tossing a football with Jake, looking healthy, and happy, and whole.
Mia was there, of course, her own children playing with mine, her presence a constant, joyful thread in the fabric of my life. My parents and Ethan's were sitting on the porch swing, chatting like old friends, the years of tension and misunderstanding between our families a distant memory.
The Connolly empire had crumbled under the weight of Ethan's assault and the public outcry that followed. Michael Connolly and his son were serving life sentences in federal prison. The corrupt politicians and judges had been disgraced and removed from office. The city was cleaner, safer. Justice, in the end, had been served, not just in a courtroom, but in the court of public opinion, orchestrated by the man who was now chasing our son across the lawn.
After the Connolly case, I had been promoted, and then promoted again. I was now the youngest District Attorney in the city's history. I had reached the heights of my profession, not by following a plan, but by learning to break it.
Ethan had found his own path. His work with the foundation had become a national model for effective philanthropy. He was a respected leader, a quiet force for good, a man who had learned to wield his power with wisdom and compassion. He was the best man I had ever known.
He caught my eye from across the lawn, his face breaking into that familiar, heart-stopping grin. He set Eleanor down and jogged over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close.
"Hey, you," he said, kissing me softly. "You're a million miles away."
"Just thinking," I said, leaning my head against his chest. "About us. About the bet."
He laughed, a rich, warm sound that was the music of my life. "Still keeping score, Madam DA?"
"Always," I said with a smile. "It was a reckless, insane bet."
"The best kind," he said, his eyes twinkling. "And for the record, I totally won."
"You did not," I argued, falling back into our old, familiar rhythm. "I'm the one who became president."
"And I'm the one who got the girl," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. "I'd say that makes me the winner."
I looked at our children, at our family, at the beautiful, messy, unpredictable life we had built together. He was right. We had both won.
"Okay, Brooks," I conceded, a slow smile spreading across my face. "You win."
He looked genuinely surprised, then his grin widened. "You're finally admitting it? After all these years?"
"I am," I said. "Because I've learned that the greatest victories aren't the ones you plan for. They're the ones that find you when you're busy betting on trouble."
He laughed and kissed me again, a long, slow kiss that tasted of sunshine and iced tea and a love that was stronger than any plan. It was a kiss that promised a lifetime of beautiful, unpredictable moments, a lifetime of winning, together.