I watch Cole and Ethan walk up the stairs to the house together, talking animatedly about baseball. My heart is so full that I think it’s going to burst.

I’ve waited my whole life for this moment. Even when it felt impossible, even when I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, I bowed my head and hoped that someday, good things would come my way.

And they did. They came in the best form. A six-foot, blue-eyed, smooth-talking baseball player who has a heart as big as California. A man who’s willing to give up, who wants to give up, his beloved sunshine and salt water for a single mom and her little boy.

I think back to something Kirk said.

“The point is that you can’t force fate, Palmer.”

“With all due respect, I’m not sure that baseball is my fate. Let’s hope not, anyway.”

“Maybe it’s not baseball. Maybe . . . maybe it’s what baseball will lead you to.”

You never know where life may take you. You just have to have patience and trust that it will all work out. You have to believe that the challenges, hardships, all the moments that will absolutely bend you in half are just making you stronger, more resilient, and absolutely more badass for life on the other side.

Because there is another side. There’s always another season. For some, it’s facing an illness and its many unknown variables. For others, it’s learning to keep going when life looks bleak. But what makes it endurable is love. Messy, complicated, beautiful, and enduring love.

And for this household, that’s probably going to include at least another season of baseball.

EPILOGUE PALMER

EPILOGUE

PALMER

Six months later

Did you use soap?” Cole’s question rings down the hallway. “Get back in there and use soap, my man.”

“But—”

“Ethan, please. It’s soap. No one is asking you to do something wild like clean your room.”

I giggle and turn back to the stove.

The meatloaf that Cole made cools on a rack next to a pot of mashed potatoes. Cooking is his thing these days. He says it gives him joy. Who am I to take that away from him?

Cole’s arms come around me from behind, pressing his hands against my stomach, where a bump will be showing in the coming months.

“How’s my little mama?” he asks, kissing me beneath my ear. How I love when he calls me that. “Hungry? Grab a seat and I’ll make you a plate.”

“When am I not hungry?”

“You’re growing a future Hall of Famer in there.” He grins. “Sit.”

I learned quickly not to argue with Cole. It was one thing before I got pregnant, but now? He’s nearly impossible to deal with.