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"You never needed to see it."

"That's not the issue."

Laurel laughs, shaking her head as Briggs continues his campaign to steal the sketchbook.

The movie plays in front of us, but I find myself watching the people gathered around me instead.

Lucy eventually curls against Maggie's side. Briggs keeps up a running commentary that earns him occasional elbow jabs from both women. Torin guards his notebook with the determination of a man protecting classified government documents.

And Laurel sits right in the middle of it all.

She leans into Briggs when she laughs. Reaches automatically for my hand when she shifts closer. Smiles at Lucy's latest story even though she's only hearing half of it.

The screen throws moving light across her face.

Across all of them.

I look at the family we've built around ourselves and feel the truth settle into place with complete certainty.

I've known where I belong for a long time.

Tonight, sitting here beside Laurel with our child growing between us and our people scattered across this blanket covered patch of grass, I finally stop treating it like a possibility and accept it for what it is.

This is home.

Epilogue

LAUREL

EIGHT MONTHS LATER…

The tattoo is still healing.

I brush my fingertips along the edge of it as I stand outside the courthouse, careful not to touch the raised skin. The design curves around the inside of my forearm, wildflowers pushing through cracked stone. Torin designed it, then spent six hours making sure each line looked exactly the way he wanted.

The flowers are resilience. The broken stone is survival. The roots are home.

At least, that's the explanation he gave me before turning red and acting like he'd thrown the whole thing together in five minutes.

I smile and glance down at it again.

Such a terrible liar.

Sunlight warms my skin, catching the fresh ink, and a familiar swell of affection settles in my chest.

Behind me, Lucy tears across the courthouse lawn. "Mom!"

Maggie's head snaps up. She laughs as Lucy barrels into her, nearly knocking them both sideways. The sound carries across the grass, bright and carefree, and I can't stop watching them.

Three years ago, if someone had told me we'd all be standing here together, I would've laughed in their face.

Six months ago, I would've broken down crying.

Now I watch my sister wrap her arms around her daughter while Lucy chatters a mile a minute, and gratitude fills every corner of me.

This life isn't perfect.

It never will be.