Epilogue

Dear Trudy, I hope this letter finds you well, as always. Seeing you last was a delight (has it been three months already?), and lately while awaiting your arrival again I've been reminded of how much I've missed you more than I have the words to describe. Time is nothing but fleeting at this point, and that shows with how our little family has been growing over here. I have much to tell you about…

As Rose handed Jo the ornament, she kept her grip on it, knowing that even though Jo was approaching two years old (and Rose was adamant on not acknowledging how quickly her baby was growing up), she was going through a dropping phase; that is, she loved to hold and drop everything she could get her hands on. Rose had learned that the hard way with their first Christmas ornament as a family, then the second; only then did Rose try handing Jo a toy to soothe her, and found that the dropping was a game more so than anything out of boredom or distress. Placing the red bulb on their tiny tree now, Rose breathed a sigh of relief as it made it onto the branch. There: they had finally started decorating their first Christmas tree as a family.

Jack had been out working on the finishing touches of the bar they were close to opening (and were planning to open in the new year), when he returned home with brown paint splotches staining his white shirt. "Oh, hey, you started on the tree," he said, a bright grin overwhelming his face as he approached them and—

"Wait! I haven't cleaned up the broken glass yet," Rose said, referring to the green-and-blue fragments of cheap ornaments that had shattered from their first and only fall to the ground.

Jack made sure to avoid the mess, walking around it and reaching Rose from the other side. "I love it," he said while wrapping his arm around her back and grabbing her waist.

"You have to wait until Jo and I finish it," she said as Jo chewed on the stuffed toy Rose had handed her before dropping it. "This is only the start."

After Rose set Jo in her crib so she could clean up, she started sweeping up the mess. Jack, who had a bright smile on his face as she did this mundane chore, leaned over and whispered in her ear, "You ready for tonight?"

Rose's cheeks took on an aggressive flush. They'd planned to have another one of their nights in, having found that the excitement of the approaching holidays had made the evenings less tiring—and with all of that extra time, they almost always chose to make something of it. "Oh… Yes," Rose said, gulping to clear her suddenly dry throat. She could already feel the flush spreading to her torso, and when she stood up to throw the shards in the trash, she could feel it spreading down her legs. "You know, I—"

"You're always ready to spend more time with me, I know," he said, kissing her on the cheek and leaving her already hungry for more. "I'll see you later tonight. For now, it's my turn to make dinner."

While Jack went to work in the kitchen, Rose got to work at her desk, meaning to sort through the photographs she needed to organize for weeks now. Some of them she was planning to send away to Trudy and Ruth, so they could glimpse at how Jo had been growing and how Jack's business with his friends had been coming along; but with the reality of those two things requiring a lot of work outside of a neat picture frame, she hadn't found the time. Maybe now, if she could focus her attention away from the imminent night and Jack's comment, she could get some of her desk space cleared up. Besides, she needed to send some of those photos to Trudy soon.

Jo is close to turning two years old, which means she is only walking and talking more each and every day. Trying to take a photo of her has been a challenge because we can't get her to stop moving. Last night she asked me, "Mama, where baby doll?" (asking for the doll that Jack had made her, of course) and I still can't believe that such sentences are starting to spring from her mouth. I've included an attempted photograph in this envelope of Jo with "baby doll," but I can tell you right now that she couldn't stay still.

After managing to sort through a small stack of photos and eating a fresh stew that Jack had made on the spot ("no recipe required"), Rose put Jo down for the remainder of the evening and felt her neck loosen in relief when no fuss was made for once. The perfect night, she thought, finally...

Her sigh vented this information to Jack as she entered the living room, where he waited with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "We set up for the night?" he asked, almost in disbelief as he said it. When was the last time they'd nabbed a night that was free from rowdiness?

"She's all settled in," Rose said, plopping down next to Jack and accepting a glass. "We should have the rest of the night just to ourselves..."

"More than happy to hear it."

He poured them two glasses and they clinked them together, the entire time a growing smile on Rose's lips. A blush also crept up her cheeks, but like the smile, it was uncontrollable, and she knew that the heat would be satiated eventually.

She sighed while taking a sip of wine, falling onto his chest with an air of pure relaxation. This is all I need, she thought as her eyes skimmed the tiny living room, this home they had created together. This is all I want.

"What now?" he asked after they sat, curled up in their cozy silence, for a few minutes. Jack's empty hand was clasped in hers, their fingers playing with a gentle touch.

"I have an idea," Rose said, leaning her face in so that her breath tickled his cheek. With a teasing hover of her lips over his own, she pulled back and said, "We can talk about our day."

Jack chuckled, having predicted that Rose was going to be a tease. "Sure, let's do it."

As they chatted about the events of the past few hours, Rose mentioned the older couple she had served with whom she had gotten friendly, and who had eventually asked if she was planning to have more children. "Apparently, when your child is approaching two, that's the next step to consider." Rose laughed nervously; with Jo taking up space on her plate, and the rest of her life taking up the other portion, there wasn't enough room for anyone or anything else.

They hadn't talked about having more kids, not because they didn't want to, but because it had taken them a while to reach the comfortable routine and rhythm they'd fallen into. Rose had only recently reached a level of comfort around being a mother that she deemed acceptable, and had just become comfortable with intimacy again. Adding another child to the mix seemed like a recipe for a multitude of problems. "I think the bar is our next baby," Jack joked, hoping to diffuse Rose of her awkwardness from being asked such a personal question at her workplace.

"Agreed," Rose said, and they clinked glasses again before bursting into a fit of giggles.

After a moment of drinking their wine in blissful silence again, something clicked in Jack's head and he jumped out of his seat. "Hold on. Stay put, I'll be right back."

Rose wanted to make some kind of joke like "there's nowhere else I'd want to go," but she was already feeling hot, and knew that her voice would betray her impatience. To relieve some of that energy, she walked around their little living room as she waited for him, glass in hand, her eyes skimming the photos they'd hung up on the walls. There was one of them in front of the courthouse after getting married, which Rose insisted on hanging up even though the flash had caught Jack by surprise and his smile was a bit wonky because of it. There was one of them on the pier with Jo in Rose's arms, set between them, also from their first day. There was another of just Jack and Rose, clinking beer glasses in front of the roller coaster, ready to vomit if that's how the day ended (for Jack, it did; Rose's stomach was stronger than she'd anticipated).

If someone were to look at that wall, they would see a picture-perfect life—but those were the photos Jack and Rose had chosen to display, the ones they wanted to remember. It wasn't like their life was infallible. They had their fair share of disagreements, especially recently when it came to spending money on the new business, but they were able to sort it out without much hassle. Rose still had a heavy past that she carried with her and that she was sometimes flung back to, her back hitting a brick wall, but Jack was always there to help her through the terrible attacks. Even with the bad, they found the good.

As for me, I'm more than happy, Trudy. Or maybe content is a better word, because I feel such a restfulness in my chest most days, I can hardly believe it. Once the bar opens, I'll be working as a waitress there, but Jack and I have started talking about my ambitions, my future plans. I have nothing set in stone, but I'd love to try out at the local theater, do a play maybe. Nothing's in fruition yet, but to have his support despite the financial strains we deal with most days has been incredible.

"Now, where were we?"

Jack pulled Rose out of her reminiscent daydream, her eyes knocked off of the photos and refocused back on the present moment. She turned up a corner of her mouth, playful, and said, "You were about to tell me how much you love me, on the couch…"

"Ah, right," Jack went along with Rose's desire, letting her huddle under his arm and squeeze next to him as they reconvened on the sofa. "What better way to say I love you than this?"

He pulled a gift box out, and Rose's gasp was audible. "Jack, what is—"

"Just wanted to give you one of your Christmas presents a little bit early," he explained while she took the present wrapped in a simple, off-white paper. Nothing too lavish, but Rose's eyes were tearing up regardless.

Inside the box was a picture frame, this time containing one of Jack's drawings. The woman in the drawing was her, standing with her back propped against a tree. The image tickled Rose's memory from another time. "Oh, Jack," she said, her voice airy and breathless. "How did you—"

"All I needed was a profile of your face, which I have almost memorized anyway. Most everything else I could improvise. It's probably not perfect, but it's close." As Rose admired the drawing, one that closely resembled what Jack had drawn when they'd snuck off to a public garden with their intentions to run away together, Jack leaned over and whispered, "I would have framed something else, but I don't think that would have anywhere appropriate to go."

Rose knew exactly which drawing Jack was referring to, even if it only existed in her memory now. The reminder of that evening when she'd posed on the sitting room couch as the ship cut through the Atlantic made her body shiver and a heat reignite in the pit of her stomach. Turning her face to meet Jack's, her cheeks burning with a building lust, she said, "I love it. Thank you."

If the evening was to continue progressing the way it had been, Rose would have set the gift aside for the time being and jumped right back into their conversation. But the tempting force was too strong for Rose to look away and continue talking. She needed to drink him in, her words having been lost in a jumble in her head. His eyes kept flitting from her own to her lips, and she knew all she had to do was lean over, and—

His mouth was soon on hers, and her hands made quick work of traveling the well-toned musculature of his shoulders. Sooner than Rose was expecting, she was lying back on the couch, wine glass and portrait forgotten, Jack's torso falling between her legs. With his body pressed against hers, her blood started to thunder and whir in her ears. She could barely hold a kiss without a gasp of air.

Having their bodies entwined on their cramped couch with their heat blending together nudged Rose's memory toward a similar time in the crowded backseat of a Renault. Back then, she couldn't believe their bodies could get any closer together, or that she'd displayed her ecstasy on the foggy window. Close and confined—suffocating when she was in high society, liberating when she was with Jack. Having his body weight press onto her sent her into more shivers.

Their short time on the Titanic was something that, unlike the majority of their relationship so far, Rose could look back on with unadulterated fondness. Their naiveté had led them to getting caught, yes, but the blissful moment right before that second that everything had shifted was something Rose always found herself thinking back to. Small things—the way Jack held her waist and back, the enclosed space of the couch they found themselves making love on now—always brought her back to that final moment of their purest existence, and how she was fulfilling that Rose's dreams now, no longer trapped in a glass jar.

"I love you, Jack," she whispered, overcome by a feeling of longing despite being in his arms.

An exchange that Jack wished had occurred back in that automobile was happening now, rewriting history. His hands pulled on her back, keeping her flush to him, while her hands snuck their way up to rest on his chest. There was only one thing to say. "And I love you, Rose Dawson."

Another perfect moment, created, Rose thought as he nudged his nose against hers, a boyish grin crossing his lips, and their breathing synchronized. Another perfect day as Rose Dawson.

With the holidays just around the corner, and Ruth and Trudy planning to arrive next week, Rose's plans for their first Christmas together as a family were coming together (for the most part) smoothly. Except for Jo's constant movement distracting her from the decorations, presents, recipes, photo albums, and more, there wasn't a single bump or rock in the road—or so Rose had thought.

"Gifts?"

"Check."

"Ornaments?"

"Check."

"Letters?"

Rose looked up from the final box of ornaments she was placing on the tree, her face crinkled by confusion and strain. "Oh, shit. I've already forgotten to write back to Trudy."

Jack nodded his head in understanding (they were all forgetful messes nowadays), moving on to the next item on the agenda. "Photo album?"

Another stricken expression crossed Rose's face. "Haven't gotten to that either…" She sighed, taking a step back to admire the tree after setting up the final ornament. "I guess there's more preparing to do than I thought."

Can you believe how much needs to get done before you and Mother visit next week? I'm swimming in more chores than I've ever had to do in my life. It's even busier than work most days. I only hope I can get it all done with my sanity still part of me, and we can have a restful holiday together. Regardless of how everything ends up, Jo is looking forward to seeing you as much as I am. She asks where you are sometimes, since I've told her so much about you and how you helped raise her, and I keep telling her "Soon, my darling." Oh, why can't next week come now with everything done and ready to go? I guess you'll have to wait until your visit to find out how everything ends up...

Jack turned up a corner of his mouth and flipped the notepad closed so he could encircle her waist with his arms. "Don't worry, I'll help."

"Thank you," she said, leaning in to give a kiss and—

A gabbering Jo came barreling into the room, her energy on an upswing. Rose pulled away, her attention having been distracted by their daughter ruining the moment. "What do you think of the tree, darling?" she said while picking Jo up and showing her the ornaments up close. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Pretty," Jo said, fawning over one of the green ornaments that she had helped place last week.

Jack clapped his hands. "We got Jo's approval. That's all that matters."

After settling Jo down for her nap by reading her not one, not two, but three bedtime stories, Jack and Rose finally came together to focus on their to-do list. "Photos, photos…" Rose mumbled while sifting through the desk drawers. She knew she'd placed them back in here somewhere… "Ah, here they are."

She pulled out two stacks that she had haphazardly pushed together after the last time she'd tried working on them, needing to be sorted chronologically with some still put aside for Trudy's letter. Jack whistled at the two masses. "All right," he said. "Best we start on this sooner rather than later, shall we?"

They set themselves up on the floor of their bedroom, splitting the stacks in half and creating a timeline with the photographs. "Aw, look at this." Rose held up one of Jack holding Jo on his shoulders, her hands clinging to his overgrown hair. "I forgot I had taken that…"

After an hour, Jack suggested a break and left to grab them a couple of beers. Rose sighed as she sat up and straightened her back, which had been bent over for too long to be comfortable. Only a year ago, she had no choice but to sit up straight. To have a backache was simultaneously painful and wonderful.

"Here we go." Jack darted back into the room with two drinks, kicking the door closed with a gentle nudge so they could talk without disturbing Jo. "For you, my lady," he said in a posh accent while handing her the bottle.

"Thank you." Rose smiled up at him as they clinked glasses and each took a prolonged sip, the alcohol warming Rose's throat and belly as it went down. Her eyes skimmed the room as they took a comfortable silence, landing on the portrait she'd decided to hang up on her side of the bed. Once upon a time…

"How are we going to tell Jo our story?" she mused out loud. "When she's older, of course."

Jack's mind was boggled by the question. He typically thought of himself as a creative person, but when it came to words, he wasn't as great as he appeared when he spoke. "Can we, uh, figure that out when she's older?" he replied, hopeful.

Rose shrugged her shoulders as if the question wasn't loaded, and as if the mood in the room was nonchalant and not suddenly serious. "It was just a thought."

A thought that left Jack wondering for a much longer period of time than he was expecting. How would he tell Jo their story? There was so much he couldn't say until she was much older, and the thought of her being all grown up tore at his heart a little.

"I would say…" Jack started, cleared his throat as Rose looked up at him from her own pondering. "I would tell her how I knew there was something between us the moment I first laid eyes on you. The moment we first held hands…"

Rose gulped, her throat suddenly dry as her heart pounded in it. "I remembered you," she said. "I saw you on the lower decks, and when we met later that day, I thought, 'It's him. That man with that intense look.' I didn't want to believe that you were looking at me for anything other than some kind of fascination or admiration. I couldn't think about falling in love at the time…"

"But we did," Jack piped up, raising his beer in the air to acknowledge the life-altering moment.

Rose laughed, her cheeks a rosy pink. "Yes, we did."

Another long silence encompassed them as they both thought about their time on the Titanic, and the exhilarating moments immediately afterward. Then, like a boulder rolling down a hill, Rose thought about the much more abundant moments after finding out she was pregnant with Jo: the isolation, the separation. "I don't know how to tell her that I wasn't there," Rose broke the still air.

Jack's heart cracked alongside Rose's voice. "She doesn't have to know that," he reassured her. "She'll always remember you. She won't remember that time..."

"I know, but…" After all the time apart, would she ever want to keep secrets from her daughter? "It feels like it might be the right thing to do."

Jack nodded his head, knowing that when time came to it, he would respect her decision to tell her story. "We have time to think about it."

"Yeah, we do… A lot of time." They grinned at each other, Rose's eyes watering from the small break in the dam she was managing to hold back, as they thought about their little Jo.

With a prolonged sigh, Jack set his beer down and laid out on the floor, stretching his arms and looking up as if the ceiling was a starry sky. "We can write the perfect love story, you know. Fill it with princesses and knights or something."

Rose joined him, their bodies flushed in order to not disturb the sorted photos on the floor. "Why?" she said while her hand sought out his. "I think what we have now is perfect enough."

They stared at the blankness of the off-white ceiling, their imaginations running with the possibilities of their future, both near and far. The bar was going to open soon, Rose was looking to audition at a local theater, Jo was turning two years old. Aside from the lingering scars that Rose would always carry with her, she couldn't picture a more perfect life.

"Merry Christmas, Jack," she said while her hand squeezed his.

Jack turned his head to face hers, his heart skipping a beat at the loveliness of her face encased in a pillow of her red curls. He would ask it until the end of time: how was he so damn lucky? "Merry Christmas, Rose."

With an exchange of warm smiles, they returned to admiring their blank canvas, neither having to speak for the other to know just what the other was thinking about.

A stack of photographs on a desk, sorted in a neat pile next to an album waiting to be filled. Another pile, short and condensed, sitting ready to be stuffed into an envelope. "Rose!" a voice called, a voice that would make any woman smitten and swoon, but which was already taken by the woman with flaming red hair finishing a letter at that exact moment.

I hear Jack calling, so I need to get going now. I've included more photographs of our time together here—of Jo and the family, of the pier, of the bar in progress—that I hope you enjoy as much as I did taking them. Anything I've forgotten, I'll fill you in when I see you next week. Until we meet again… Love, Rose.

Rose finished penning the letter with a smooth brush of the letter e, setting it aside to dry before she'd send it off tonight. "Rose, you coming?" Jack's voice rang out again. They'd made plans to finish wrapping presents for their friends, and she could hear Jo already crinkling the wrapping papers alongside Jack's call.

"I'll be right out," she said, taking one last glimpse at the letter and the life she had described in it, before standing up and returning to the real thing, her husband and baby girl waiting for her only a few steps away.

One of the most difficult things to do is to end a creative project you've been working on for months. (Almost a year at this point!) I feel as if there is no perfect way to end a story, besides recognizing that there's a time where it must come to an end (and then hoping it's a satisfying ending). Writing this chapter was an emotional mess for me, since I didn't want to wrap it up. (And I don't plan on fully wrapping it up just yet, as I have a short sequel planned that will stand as a separate story. *wink*) But what I think makes fanfic so great is that you can always go back and edit a chapter or an ending if you want to. I want to keep this ending happy, but I might tweak it in the future, add a scene or two. (I don't know, what do you all think?) We'll just have to see what happens when I go back and edit it eventually, and start working on the sequel.

What's the plan now? Lately, I've been very busy, and unable to partake in a lot of online discourse and social media. So I'll be taking a short break from posting (I'll still be writing, of course), then I'll return to finish A Second Chance and The Illustrator.

I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and that you'll enjoy the sequel when that comes out one day. Thank you to every review, every favorite, every follow, and every reader. It all means more to me than you know. Until next time…

Lady Elena Dawson