Page 245 of Override

The words are strangely easy once they're finally free.

"I don't believe there's a statistical model capable of measuring how completely you've changed my life."

A tear slips down her cheek. She laughs as she wipes it away.

"I love you too..." Her fingers slide into mine. "...Taibhse."

My fingers tighten around hers. For months, I'd believed the greatest flaw in every system was trust. Standing in front of the woman who somehow managed to rewrite every conclusion I'd ever reached… I realize I'd been measuring the wrong variable all along. It was never trust.

It was choice.

Every day...Maeve chooses me. And for the rest of my life...I'll make sure she never regrets that decision.

Epilogue

Maeve

Three Months Later

"I still think your statistics are made up."

"They're not."

"They absolutely are."

Keaton doesn't even look up from the instruction manual spread across our kitchen island. "They're peer-reviewed."

"They're Keaton-reviewed."

He adjusts his glasses. "Which is considerably more reliable."

I laugh, balancing the small box against my hip as I make my way toward the garage.

Buying a house hadn't exactly been part of the plan.

At least...not mine.

The moment Keaton found out I was pregnant, he'd disappeared into his office for three hours before emerging with a spreadsheet.

He'd calmly explained that children raised in detached homes generally experienced lower noise exposure, increased outdoor activity, and statistically fewer complaints from downstairs neighbors when they inevitably discovered jumping.

I'd pointed out the baby wasn't even the size of a peach yet.

He'd nodded. "Which gives us adequate planning time."

Two weeks later we'd bought a house.

Three doors down from Matt and Rachel.

Coincidentally. Or at least that's what Keaton claimed.

I step into the garage, setting the box onto the workbench just as music drifts through the new speakers mounted overhead.

I freeze. Then smile. Everlong fills the air.

Of course. I lean against the workbench, letting the familiar song fill the garage. It takes me another few seconds to notice it. A small black camera tucked neatly into the upper corner near the exterior door.

I stare at it. Then slowly look back toward the door leading into the house.