Chapter 32: Daddy’s Dirty Little Secret: EPILOGUE

The wedding planner kept asking if I wanted more time, but I just smiled and told her I was ready. Truthfully, I had been ready since the day Xander told me he wasn’t going to lose me. Everything after that had felt like waiting for this moment—one final, sunny afternoon surrounded by family, friends, and a dress that somehow still fit, even with the baby bump just starting to round out under the silk.

Aunt Julia adjusted the flower comb in my hair for the third time while humming something I didn’t recognize. She had a mouthful of safety pins and absolutely no intention of letting anyone else near my veil. Claire stood behind her holding the backup bouquet, chatting with the makeup artist about how proud she was of me. Their energy made the bridal suite feel a little like a parade float in motion—chaotic, loud, and entirely full of love.

I glanced at the mirror and gave my reflection a nervous once-over. The dress wasn’t traditional. It had a square neckline, simple sleeves, and no train. I didn’t want anything that would make me trip. The bouquet sat waiting on the table, pale peach and ivory roses bound with silk. My stomach did a small flip—not nerves, just the baby reminding me I wasn’t the only one excited to get down the aisle.

The door opened, and my dad peeked in, already dressed in his suit and looking stiff enough to pass for royalty. Julia stepped back with a satisfied sigh as Claire gave me a quick hug.

“You look like a dream,” my dad said as he crossed the room. “Like your mom would’ve wanted to see.”

I took his arm, feeling steadier with him next to me. “Let’s get married then.”

The walk down the aisle was shorter than it looked in rehearsal. My eyes went straight to Xander, who stood at the other end of the archway like he was carved from certainty. He wore a crisp black suit and had this soft, knowing look on his face that made my heart skip and settle all at once.

As Dad gave me away, he didn’t try to say anything poetic. He just squeezed my fingers and whispered that he loved me, which was all I needed to hear.

The ceremony passed in a blur of vows, quiet laughter, and whispered promises I never wanted to forget. Xander’s hands never shook. Mine only did a little, and only when I said his name.

When we kissed, the crowd clapped like we’d just won a gold medal. Claire shouted something about finally, and Julia wiped tears from under her glasses, waving off anyone who dared to comment.

The reception was held under a white tent strung with fairy lights and flowers that smelled faintly like citrus. Xander and I sat at a long table while guests filtered in and took their seats. The food was warm and hearty—roasted chicken with herb butter, garlic mashed potatoes, grilled vegetables, and soft rolls that Claire declared better than any bakery in town.

Every time I turned around, someone had left a new glass of sparkling cider at my elbow. The champagne flowed freely for everyone else, and I didn’t mind one bit. I was already tipsy from joy and hormones.

Dad kept hovering by the dessert table, claiming he was making sure the cake didn’t melt. Julia and Claire had planted themselves near the dance floor and were telling anyone who’d listen that I’d been the calmest bride in family history.

When it came time for the first dance, Xander reached for me without saying a word. The music was soft, a classic tune played by a live quartet. I rested one hand on his shoulder and the other over his heart, letting him guide us in a slow circle that made the room tilt gently around us.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low enough that no one else could hear.

“I’m better than okay.”

“You sure? You haven’t stopped smiling since you walked down the aisle.”

“I’m just afraid if I stop, I’ll cry.”

“Then don’t stop.”

I didn’t.

After the dance, we mingled with guests, posed for photos, and managed to sneak two bites of cake before Claire noticed and brought us each a full slice. Dad made a speech that was equal parts sentimental and sarcastic, ending with a toast to “the man who spent half a million to marry my daughter and didn’t even blink.”

Everyone laughed, and Xander didn’t deny it.

Then, just when I thought the surprises were done, Xander’s dad took the microphone and cleared his throat with dramatic flair.

“Since we’re already celebrating love,” he said, glancing toward his girlfriend, Candy, “I’d like to officially announce that we’re engaged.”

A round of applause rippled through the tent, followed by delighted chatter from the older guests. Candy beamed and waved her hand, showing off a diamond that sparkled even in the soft light.

Julia and Claire immediately descended on her with questions about venues and dresses, dragging her halfway to the floral arch before the man of the hour could even finish his glass of champagne.

Xander leaned close and whispered, “Guess we’re not the only ones stealing the spotlight tonight.”

“I’m just glad someone else will be planning the next party.”

As the evening wore on, I wandered from table to table, hearing every version of congratulations a person could imagine. Guests gushed over the food, the dress, and the music. Some of my cousins had started a dance line near the bar, and Claire joined them without hesitation. Julia held court with a group of women near the punch bowl, hands flailing as she retold every detail of the ceremony.

I felt full in every way a person could be full.

Later, after the sun dipped behind the trees and the fairy lights were the only thing keeping the yard from going dark, Xander took my hand and guided me toward the edge of the garden.

We sat on a bench away from the crowd, watching the last of the guests filter out. My feet ached and my back was tired, but none of that mattered. The weight of his hand in mine was grounding, and the way he looked at me told me I wasn’t the only one quietly amazed we’d made it here.

“You did it,” I said. “You made it through a wedding without any corporate emergencies or fire drills.”

“There’s still time,” he replied. “Let’s not tempt fate.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed. “I think this was the happiest day of my life.”

“I think it’s just the start.”

For once, I didn’t worry about what came next. Not the nursery or the baby clothes or the long nights ahead. I didn’t worry about how we’d juggle work and parenthood or who would do the dishes or if we’d argue over things like curtains and bedtime schedules.

I just sat there, full of cake and love and the kind of quiet peace that doesn’t demand anything more than this—him, me, and the life we’d chosen together.

Claire found us eventually, dragging Julia with her, both of them carrying Tupperware full of leftovers and already arguing about baby shower themes.

“Don’t forget to hydrate!” Claire warned as she handed me a water bottle.

Julia pressed a kiss to my cheek and grinned. “You’re glowing, Amelia.”

I smiled at them both and tucked myself a little closer to Xander.

“I really am.”

Three months later

The hospital room was quiet except for the slow, steady beep of the monitor beside the bed. Outside the window, early morning light poured over the skyline, soft and warm against the white blinds. I could hear the faint shuffle of nurses at the station down the hall and the occasional squeak of rubber soles as someone passed by the doorway.

My entire world had narrowed to the small bassinet a few feet from my bed—and the warm, steady presence of the man sitting beside me.

Xander had barely moved in the past hour. One hand rested on the edge of the bassinet while the other propped up his chin. His eyes were fixed on the tiny, sleeping bundle inside like he still didn’t believe she was real. I couldn’t blame him. I had been holding her all night and I still wasn’t sure any of this had really happened.

Our daughter.

The words still felt new, like trying on a name I hadn’t earned yet. Everything about her seemed impossible. The way her fingers curled into little fists, how her nose wrinkled when she yawned, the perfect swirl of dark hair on the top of her head. She was seven pounds, four ounces of absolute wonder. And I was already wrapped around her tiny, wrinkled finger.

Xander reached down and adjusted the edge of the pink blanket tucked around her. He didn’t say anything. He hadn’t said much since she was born, just short, quiet sentences when the nurses asked questions, or when the doctor gave updates. It wasn’t like him to be this still. But watching him now, I understood. This wasn’t stillness. It was awe. Maybe even disbelief. We had talked about this moment for months, but living it was something else entirely.

He finally looked up and met my eyes. There were dark circles under his, and his stubble had grown into something just past charming. His tie from yesterday hung loose around his neck. His jacket was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s asleep again,” he said, his voice low and tired.

“I think she likes the sound of your voice,” I said, smiling softly.

He glanced back at the bassinet, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That makes one of us.”

I shifted carefully against the pillows and reached for the water on my tray. The soreness from labor was still present, a dull ache that stretched across my lower back and hips, but it felt distant now. I was too full of adrenaline and emotion to let it distract me.

“I thought you’d fall apart,” I said, sipping slowly. “You’ve handled this better than I have.”

Xander raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who pushed a human out of your body, and you’re saying I’ve got the harder job?”

“You looked more nervous than I felt.”

“I was terrified,” he admitted, sitting back in the chair. “Every time a monitor beeped, I thought something was wrong. And when she finally came out, I just stood there like an idiot, waiting for someone to tell me what to do.”

“You cut the cord without flinching.”

“I flinched on the inside.”

I laughed softly and watched as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. For all his worry, he hadn’t left my side. Not once. Not when labor started, not when the contractions hit their worst, and not when she finally arrived, red-faced and wailing, her little fists swinging in the air. He had stayed, eyes locked on me, jaw tight, one hand gripping mine like a lifeline. And when the doctor handed her to me, his face broke open in a way I had never seen before.

“You cried,” I said.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I had something in my eye.”

“You had a full breakdown in your eye, then.”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell your aunts. Julia will write a song about it.”

I smiled, remembering the look on their faces when we called them with the news. Julia had immediately burst into tears and demanded photos. Claire had sworn she was driving up with lasagna whether we wanted it or not. Dad had arrived with balloons and flowers and a copy of What to Expect in the First Year like we hadn’t already read everything we could find.

He had also cried, quietly and without fanfare, while holding her for the first time. He didn’t say much, but I saw the way his fingers shook, the way he whispered her name like a prayer.

We hadn’t settled on it until we saw her. We’d had a short list—three names we both liked—but nothing felt right until she opened her eyes and stared up at us like she was already sizing up the world.

Lena Grace Blackwell.

It suited her. Strong, soft, timeless.

Xander reached for the small card the nurse had left and flipped it over in his hands. Her name was printed in neat handwriting, along with her weight and the time of birth. He read it again and again like it would change if he stopped paying attention.

“She’s going to grow up here,” he said. “In this world. With us.”

I reached out and took his hand again. “That’s the plan.”

“I want her to have everything we didn’t.”

“She will.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He looked at me again, and the emotion behind his eyes made my chest tighten. “I want her to know she’s safe. That she’s loved. That we’re not going anywhere.”

“She’ll know,” I said. “Because you’ll show her. The same way you’ve shown me.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead, then rested his against mine. We sat like that, tangled up in the silence, listening to the steady breath of our newborn daughter. There were no big declarations, no grand promises. Just the quiet certainty that we were in this now—for real, for good.

A soft knock came at the door, and a nurse peeked in with a clipboard in hand.

“Ready for discharge in the morning?” she asked.

Xander nodded. “We’re ready.”

The nurse smiled and stepped back out. The door clicked shut, and I looked over at the duffel bag in the corner. It was already packed. Clothes for me, a tiny going-home outfit for Lena, a pink blanket with her name embroidered on the corner. It was all waiting.

We were going home.

Home to a life I hadn’t imagined a year ago. Home with a husband who had once sworn off love, and a baby who made every sharp edge in both of us a little softer. I had no illusions about what the next few months would bring. Sleepless nights, messy mornings, uncertain steps—but also joy. Laughter. The kind of moments we’d never be able to plan for.

I had everything I needed.

A family.

A future.

Love that stayed.

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