Page 84 of The Man in the Cottage

Home.

Not just a place anymore. A person. A life. A future that's still taking shape but already feels more real than anything I've ever had.

Kelly opens her door. "You coming?"

"Right behind you."

I grab my bag and follow her across the yard, past the cottage, toward the main house. The porch light is on—she must have left it burning when she went to the game. A beacon, waiting for us to return.

We go inside, and the door closes behind us, and that's it. That's everything.

Just us. Just home. Just the beginning of whatever comes next.

Epilogue

Kelly

Four Years Later

Avery has his father's eyes.

That's the first thing I think every morning when he wanders into the kitchen, still half-asleep, his dark hair sticking up in every direction. He's three and a half now, old enough to have opinions about everything—what he wears, what he eats, which cartoon character goes on which sippy cup. But those eyes are pure Travis. Dark and serious and watching everything.

"Mama," he says, climbing onto the kitchen chair. "Pancakes?"

"What's the magic word?"

"Please pancakes."

"Close enough."

I pour batter onto the griddle while Avery watches, his chin propped on his hands. Through the window, I can see Travis crossing the yard from the cottage—which isn't a cottage anymore, not really. We renovated it last year, turned it into his office and workout space. He still goes there every morning to lift weights and watch game tape before practice.

Some habits are hard to break.

The back door opens and Travis comes in, bringing cold air and the smell of the outdoors. His hair is damp from the shower, and he's wearing the old Longshore Hockey hoodie I bought him as a joke three Christmases ago. He claims it's his lucky hoodie now. Refuses to throw it out even though it has holes in the sleeves.

"Daddy!" Avery scrambles off the chair and launches himself at Travis's legs. Travis scoops him up like he weighs nothing, which he basically does.

"Hey, buddy. You being good for Mama?"

"I'm always good."

"That's debatable," I say, flipping a pancake.

Travis carries Avery over to the counter and sets him on it, keeping one hand on his back so he doesn't tip over. It's such a dad move—casual and confident, like he's been doing this forever. Which I guess, at this point, he has.

"You ready for today?" he asks me.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Today is the day my second book comes out. The Quiet Wife, a thriller about a woman who discovers her husband has been hiding a secret family for fifteen years. My editor says it's even better than the first one. The early reviews have been good. There's already talk of a film adaptation.

None of it feels real yet. Maybe it won't until I see it on the shelves, until I hold a physical copy in my hands. Or maybe it'll never feel real. Maybe I'll always be that woman who quit her marketing job on a whim and moved to her grandmother's house to write a book that might never get published.

"You're going to be great," Travis says, reading my mind the way he always does.

"I'm going to be nervous."