Page 159 of Keller

"Does it still stand?"

Something shifts in his expression. Not hope exactly, but something more guarded. More honest.

"It's not going anywhere."

I take a breath and then let it out slowly.

"I think I'd like to, too. Slowly. Honestly. No pressure." I hold his gaze. "If it becomes too much, we step back. We stay good co-parents no matter what. Nothing compromises that."

"Understood."

He steps closer, but he doesn’t close the distance for me. I bridge it myself.

Our hands find each other over the bassinet. His fingers slide through mine. Caroline sighs in her sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath the blanket.

FORTY

Epilogue

Carnival Always Returns:No matter the disruption—war, storm, or ordinance—New Orleans krewes inevitably begin planning the next season almost as soon as one ends. The continuity of Carnival reflects a collective commitment to tradition, proving that even paused pageantry is rarely permanent.

Caroline kicksthe back of my seat, babbling at something only she understands, while Keller shifts the car into park and cuts the engine.

“Home sweet home,” he says.

I look at the house through the windshield. I love the pale brick, the wide porch, and tall windows that catch the late afternoon light. An oak tree stretches across the front yard, welcoming us with open arms.

“It’s ours,” I say.

We’ve spent the last year pretending we were easing into things. His clothes are in my closet, and my laptop is on hiskitchen counter. Toothbrushes in both bathrooms. Caroline has been crawling across both living rooms like she owned them.

On paper, we were separate. In practice, he’s been at my house almost every night since she was born.

It was too small for three people. Too small for the life we're building. So, we made the decision exactly two months ago to start looking for a house, for something that's ours together.

I found this one on my first night going down the real estate rabbit hole. Have I mentioned I'm good at rabbit holes?

But we did the responsible thing and considered many others. We always came back to this one.

Keller gets out first and comes around to unbuckle Caroline. She launches herself at him with zero hesitation, hands fisting in his shirt as if she’s been waiting all day.

“Easy,” he murmurs, settling her on his hip. “You’re going to wear a path in that driveway before we even move in.”

I step out and walk to the front door.

He pauses beside me, but he doesn’t take the keys.

“You do it,” he says.

I smile at him and then put the key in the doorknob, unlocking the door.

The house smells like fresh paint and new wood. Wide-plank floors stretch toward the back wall of glass that overlooks the river. The Mississippi slides past, brown and powerful and steady in a way that is oddly reassuring.

Caroline wriggles down from his arms and wobbles forward, arms out for balance, her diapered bottom swaying with determination. She's been walking now for almost two months, getting steadier every day.

She laughs at the echo of her own voice in the empty space.

“Careful,” I warn automatically.