Epilogue

July 4, 2025

8:18 pm

I lean back against Shep's chest, feeling the warmth of his body as we sit on the dock of our new lake house on Lake Martin. The night air is thick with humidity, but a gentle breeze coming off the water keeps us comfortable.

Opie sits cross-legged at the edge of the dock, his eyes wide with wonder as fireworks explode across the sky, their colorful reflections dancing on the dark water.

"Look, Elle! That one looks like a jellyfish!" Opie exclaims, pointing excitedly.

I laugh, my heart swelling with affection for this boy who's become such a big part of my life and seems to love everything that lives in water almost as much as I do.

"You're right. It does! Maybe tomorrow we can go out on the kayak and see if we can spot any real freshwater jellyfish."

"Yes! The ones I learned about at McWane are the crass-peds-custa sour-bee ?"

"That is pretty good. Yes, the Craspedacusta sowerbyii jellyfish is a freshwater one."

Shep's arms tighten around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. "How's the hand feeling?" he asks softly. He is always so attentive, constantly checking in about it to make sure I don't have any pain.

I flex my fingers, feeling only a slight twinge. The 3-inch scar on my wrist is a constant reminder of that fateful day, but it's faded to a thin, silvery line. "Not bad," I reply. "Just a little achy from all the unpacking we did today."

"You overdid it," Shep scolds gently, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "I told you to take it easy. You've got an extra thirty pounds you're carrying around."

"I'm fine," I insist, turning my head to kiss his cheek. "Besides, how could I resist setting up our new lab space? I can't wait to start collecting water samples with Opie tomorrow."

As if on cue, Opie turns to us with a grin. "Can we go swimming after the fireworks, Dad? Please?"

Shep laughs. "Sorry, buddy. It's way too late for swimming. But how about we make s'mores instead?"

Opie's eyes light up even brighter than the fireworks. "Yes!"

As Shep gets up to gather the supplies, I stay seated on the dock, watching the final bursts of color illuminate the sky. I flex my hand again, marveling how far I've come in the past year. The nerve pain is still there, a dull throb that flares up occasionally, but it's manageable.

As the fireworks finale fades, I can't help but reflect on another reason we have to celebrate tonight. Ari's miraculous improvements have been on all our minds lately.

It's been almost exactly a year since her accident. A 4th of July trip put her in the path of the storm. The doctors initially thought she'd never wake up. They stopped short of declaring her brain dead, but the prognosis was grim.

Then, on December 1, just shy of five months after the accident, she shocked everyone by opening her eyes.

I remember the day Shep got the call. We were decorating the Christmas tree with Opie when his phone rang. I've never seen his face light up quite like that before. Shep was laughing and crying at the same time, trying to explain to Opie that Mommy had woken up.

Since then, it's been a slow process, but Ari has been making steady progress. She's at a specialized Neurorehabilitation Center here in Birmingham now, which has been a godsend. Opie visits her several times a week, and I can see how much it means to both of them.

Just last week, Ari managed to squeeze Opie's hand in response to a question. The look of pure joy on his face was indescribable. Shep and I exchanged glances, both of us tearing up at the milestone.

It's still hard to say for sure how things will go for Ari. The road ahead is long and uncertain. But if there's one thing we've all learned, it's to never discount Ari and her ability to defy the odds. She's proven time and time again that she's a fighter.

As I watch Shep and Opie gather supplies for s'mores, I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. This past year has been a whirlwind of changes, challenges, and unexpected blessings. And while we don't know what the future holds, I'm thankful for this moment—for this family we've built, for Ari's progress, and for the hope that continues to grow with each passing day.

As I rest my hand on my swollen belly, I can't help but smile at the thought of our little girl joining us in just four short weeks. The past seven months have been a whirlwind of excitement, preparation, and love.

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. It was shortly after New Year's, and I'd had a particularly long day at work. All I wanted was to unwind with a glass of my favorite Rosé. But the moment I took a sip, my stomach turned. Something felt off. Call it mother's intuition, but I knew right then.

The pregnancy test confirmed my suspicion, and Shep and I were over the moon. Neither of us had been expecting it, but sometimes life's best surprises come when you least anticipate them.

Opie has been the sweetest big brother-to-be. He's been talking to my belly, telling his sister all about the world she's about to enter. Just yesterday, he presented us with his latest creation—a Lego sea turtle, complete with a tiny pink blanket. He said she was laying her eggs, and one of them would be his little sister.

The detail he put into it touched my heart. He's like his daddy—he is a protector. I know he will take such good care of his new charge. He no doubt will be my helper.

Shep has been my rock through it all. He's been to every appointment, painted the nursery, and even started learning how to braid hair for when our little girl gets older. Watching him prepare for our daughter's arrival with such enthusiasm and love makes me fall for him all over again.

I already know he will be an amazing dad. I've had the pleasure of witnessing that up close and personal.

As we sit by the lake, watching the last of the fireworks fade, I feel a sense of completeness. Our family is growing and evolving, and I couldn't be more grateful.

Life turns and changes and gives and takes, but there are always gifts in each day. Sometimes, we just have to get out of our own way to appreciate those gifts.