EPILOGUEThe sun was warm on the garden that afternoon. Two boys, seven and five, ran in circles around the old oak tree, laughing so loudly that the birds flew away in protest. Their names were Elias and Theo, and they had inherited their fathers’ stubbornness and their mother’s golden eyes.Rowan sat on the stone bench beneath the tree, one hand resting on the gentle swell of his stomach. He was pregnant again — their third child. This one had been a surprise, but a welcome one. He watched his sons play with a small, tired smile on his face.“Elias! Theo!” Rowan called out, his voice carrying across the garden. “Do not climb that high! Your fathers will have a heart attack if you fall.”Elias paused halfway up the lowest branch, looking guilty. “But Papa, I can reach the big branch! Theo cannot because he is smaller!”Theo puffed up his chest. “I can too! Watch me!”Rowan sighed, rubbing his belly. “Both of you, down. Now. I mean it.”Dante stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watch
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