Epilogue
EMILY
FOUR MONTHS LATER
I’ve never really cared to celebrate my birthdays. Growing up, my mother planned these extravagant parties, and they were always so over-the-top that when I got older, I begged her to stop. After the accident, she had no desire to celebrate my birthday at all.
In college, I studied more than I partied, and after I graduated from medical school, I worked twelve-hour shifts through my birthday. But this year is different.
This is the first year I’m genuinely excited to celebrate it. Evan made sure we both have off work, and the anticipation of what he has planned is killing me. At almost eight months pregnant, I’m only hoping whatever surprise he has in store doesn’t put me into early labor.
“Happy Birthday, baby.” Evan nuzzles his lips against my neck,
