Epilogue
1216 Words
5 years later.
---
The clinic has 12 locations now.
I still work 2 days a week.
I still see patients.
I still cry sometimes.
Alessandro is still CEO.
He still comes to the clinic on Tuesdays.
He still sits in my office and works.
People call us "the Morettis."
It sounds right now.
---
Lucia is 12.
She’s tall. She has Alessandro’s eyes and my stubbornness.
She wants to be a doctor. "Like mama."
She also wants to be a CEO. "Like papa."
She runs the soccer team. She volunteers at the clinic on Saturdays.
"Too much like both of us," Alessandro says. "God help us."
---
Matteo is 8.
He’s loud. He’s kind. He’s obsessed with dogs.
Bruno is 5 now. Fat and happy.
Matteo wants to be a firefighter. "To save people."
Alessandro cried when he said that.
"Proud of you, buddy," he said.
---
We still live at the water house.
We added a deck. A bigger kitchen.
A playroom that’s now a teen room.
The string lights are still up. From the proposal.
We never took them down.
---
Alessandro and I are different now.
Older. Calmer.
We fight about dishes. About who forgot to buy milk.
We don’t fight about the past anymore.
At night we still sit on the dock.
No fear. Just crickets.
"Remember when," we say sometimes.
"Yeah," the other says. "I remember."
---
We go to therapy once a month.
"Maintenance," our therapist calls it.
It helps.
We talk about stress. About kids. About us.
"How’s the marriage," she asks.
"Good," we both say.
---
Alessandro’s company is public now.
He hates it. The meetings. The press.
But he does it.
Because it funds the clinic.
Because it gives people jobs.
Because he can do good with it.
He’s a different billionaire now.
He wears jeans to board meetings.
He brings Matteo to "take your kid to work day."
---
I published a book.
About the clinic. About healing.
About second chances.
It did okay.
The best part was the emails.
From women. "You gave me hope."
I cried reading them. Alessandro held me.
---
We travel now.
Italy every summer.
The kids speak fluent Italian.
Alessandro’s aunt makes us pasta and yells at us.
We went to Japan last year.
Just us. No kids.
We held hands in Kyoto. Like teenagers.
---
Daniel got married.
To a lawyer. They have twins.
He’s still our lawyer. And our friend.
He comes to Sunday dinner.
---
Rosa runs the clinic now.
She’s the director.
She’s fierce. She’s amazing.
She still brings me coffee on Tuesdays.
---
Marco is still in prison.
We don’t talk about him.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s okay.
Then I remember what he did.
And I stop wondering.
---
One night last year Alessandro woke me up.
"Come outside," he said.
It was snowing.
He’d built a snowman. With a sign.
"Still choosing you," it said.
I kissed him in the snow.
---
We renewed our vows on our 5th anniversary.
Same dock. Same lights.
Just family. 20 people.
Lucia read a poem.
Matteo dropped the rings.
Alessandro cried. Again.
"Still you," he said in his vows. "Always you."
"Always," I said.
---
The kids know the story now.
Not all of it. The kid version.
"Mama and papa had a hard start," Alessandro told them. "But we chose each other."
"And now we’re a family," Lucia said.
"Best family," Matteo said.
---
Alessandro teaches a class now.
At the business school.
"Ethics in Business."
He tells them about the clinic.
About choosing people over profit.
The students love him.
---
I still get nervous before big speeches.
Alessandro still sits in the front row.
Filming. Crying.
"I’m not crying," he says after.
"Yes you are," I say.
---
We have a tradition.
Every year on our "real" anniversary, we go back to the dock.
We eat the same pasta.
We drink the same wine.
We read our vows to each other.
"Do you still choose me," he asks.
"Yes," I say.
"Do you still choose me," I ask.
"Yes," he says.
---
The clinic got a grant last month.
1 million dollars. Anonymous donor.
The note said: "For Seraphina and Alessandro. For what you built."
We think it was Daniel.
---
Alessandro’s hair is gray at the temples now.
I love it.
He calls me "doc" when he’s tired.
I call him "babe" when I’m mad.
It works.
---
Lucia had her first heartbreak.
A boy at school.
She cried for 3 days.
Alessandro took her for ice cream. "You’ll be okay, kid."
"How do you know," she asked.
"Because your mom picked me," he said. "And I’m pretty great."
She rolled her eyes. But she smiled.
---
Matteo broke his arm.
Fell off the monkey bars.
Alessandro carried him to the ER.
Paced the whole time.
"It’s okay," I said. "It’s just a break."
"I know," he said. "But he’s my baby."
---
We’re writing a new chapter.
Not for Stary. For us.
Adoption.
We’re fostering a 6 year old girl.
Her name is Elena.
She moved in 3 months ago.
She’s scared. She’s angry.
She’s ours.
Lucia adores her.
Matteo shares his toys.
Alessandro reads to her at night.
"We’ve got you," he tells her. "You’re safe."
---
Last night Elena asked, "Are you really my family."
"Yes," I said.
"Forever," she asked.
"Forever," Alessandro said.
She crawled into bed with us.
---
Tonight.
We’re all here.
Pizza on the floor. Movie on.
Bruno is snoring.
Lucia is on her phone.
Matteo is asleep on Alessandro.
Elena is asleep on me.
Alessandro looks at us. "This is it."
"What," I whisper.
"This," he says. "This is everything."
---
I think about 6 years ago.
The office. The contract.
The fear. The anger.
I think about the clinic.
The letters. The knife.
The trial.
I think about the proposal.
The wedding. The kids.
I think about us.
---
Alessandro squeezes my hand.
"Penny for your thoughts," he says.
"Just thinking," I say. "About how far we’ve come."
"Yeah," he says. "Me too."
He kisses my head. "Best decision I ever made."
"Marrying me," I say.
"Yes," he says. "But also before that. Hiring you."
I laugh. "Lucky me."
"Lucky us," he says.
---
Outside, it’s quiet.
Inside, it’s loud and messy and perfect.
This is our life.
Not the one we planned.
Not the one we expected.
Better.
---
Years ago someone asked me what love was.
I didn’t know.
I know now.
Love is choosing someone in an office.
Love is choosing them in a hospital.
Love is choosing them when you’re scared.
Love is choosing them when you’re safe.
Love is us.
---
Alessandro turns off the TV.
"Kids to bed," he says.
We carry them. All three.
Tuck them in. Kiss their heads.
Then we go to our room.
---
He pulls me close.
"So," he says. "What’s next."
"I don’t know," I say. "But I know who I want next to me."
"Me too," he says.
We lay there. Listening to the house.
To the breathing. To the quiet.
To peace.
---
The end.
Of the book.
Of the story.
Of the beginning.
This is our life now.
The Morettis.
And it’s good.
It’s really, really good.
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