I brush my thumb along her jaw. “That I finally know who I am.”
She smiles. “Good.”
The night winds down the way real nights do. Not with fireworks or declarations, but with bodies settling, voices dropping, and a slow understanding that nothing needs to be proven right now.
Syvannah sleeps curled against my side, her breath warm against my chest. Peanut is wedged between us, purring like she’s finally satisfied with the state of the world. My cut hangs over the back of the chair, the new patch catching the low light whenever I glance at it.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the urge to stand guard. That doesn’t mean I’m blind to what waits beyond this moment. I know better than to believe peace is permanent. Men like us don’t get endings. We get pauses. We get breathing room. We get a chance to build something worth protecting before the next test comes.
And that’s enough. I’m not wondering who I am anymore. I’m not questioning whether I belong here or whether the good will last. I’m standing in it, holding it, choosing it.
I'm staying with my wife. With my family. With my hands steady and my heart finally where it belongs.
Epilogue
TINY
“Doors open in ten.” Syvannah checks her watch, then looks up at me. There’s paint on her sleeve and a smudge of dust on her cheek, but she hasn’t noticed yet.
“Ten?” I ask. “Thought you said we had fifteen.”
“I did,” she says. “Then Nina showed up early, and now we don’t.”
I grunt and reach past her to slide the last box under the counter. Peanut is already stretched out on top of the paperwork, tail flicking lazily.
“Cat’s in the way,” I say.
“She lives here,” Syvannah replies without looking up. “We’re just allowed inside.”
I snort because it’s true.
The place smells new. Clean. Fresh lumber, disinfectant, and coffee someone left on the back counter. Women move through the space carrying crates, folders, and leashes. No one rushes, but no one drags their feet either. It feels organized without being stiff. Lived in without being worn down.
“Is this sign crooked?” Daisy asks from the far wall.
“It’s straight,” Monica answers. “You just are not.”
Daisy flips her off without missing a beat.
I lean against the doorway and watch Syvannah sign the final set of forms, her pen moving steadily. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t second-guess. The woman who once flinched at too many eyes now runs a room full of them.
Pride sits heavy in my chest.
“You're staring again,” she says without looking up.
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“Because you built this.”
She pauses, glances up at me. “We built this.”
I shrug. “Still staring.”
The front door opens, letting in cooler air and Nina’s voice. “Is Peanut allowed on the counter?”
Peanut opens one eye and flicks her tail. “She says yes,” Syvannah answers.