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Epilogue – Still Breathing

The hospital room was quiet, white, and stale. Machines hummed like background music for memories that didn’t exist.

Mo lay in the bed, still and breathing, like a ghost that hadn’t decided which direction to float.

I stood by the window, hands in my pockets, watching the wind move tree branches like old secrets.

Then he blinked.

He looked around slowly, confusion swimming behind his eyes.

> “Where… am I?” he asked.

I turned.

Walked up to his bed.

Sat down.

> “You were shot,” I said.“Drive-by. Random. You’re lucky.”

He winced. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

I smiled softly.

> “You’ve been out a while.We used to be friends. Then… things happened.”

His eyes searched mine, but he didn’t find the old reflections.

I went on. I told him everything.From the school.To the incident.To the chaos.To the hunt.

Everything—Except the one moment that changed it all.

> “Then one day,” I said, pausing, “you told me your type.”

He laughed, confused. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

---

We hung out again. Laughed a little. Ate ice cream on a bench like we were kids again.

But it wasn’t the same.

Not really.

Something was missing.

And maybe that was for the best.

---

But to be honest...

My life was better.

I had a home.

Three kids who looked up to me like I held the world in one hand and a marshmallow in the other.

Nina had healed.

She smiled now. Sang a little when she cooked. Told stories that didn’t shake the room with trauma.

Koko laughed again.

Lola started school. Top of her class.

We were okay.

---

Dinner Time

The four of us sat around the table.

Steam rising from the food.

Laughter echoing between bites of roasted chicken and messy spoonfuls of rice.

Nina passed Koko a second helping.

Lola tried to stack marshmallows on a fork.

I smiled, leaned back, felt peace in my bones for the first time in years.

Then the door opened.

And he walked in.

Mo.

Fully recovered.

Fully fed.

And fully round again.

He had gained all the weight back.

Waddled in like a penguin with confidence.

I stiffened.

The kids kept eating—thankfully, none of them recognized him.

He gave a small wave, awkward but genuine.

> “Smells good.”

I pulled out a chair for him.

He sat down.

Grabbed a spoon.

We passed him a plate.

He smiled.

And we all ate—

> together.As something broken.Something healing.Something… like a family.

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