It Should Have Been Like This (The Revised Version)

Epilogue: A Year Later

Lavender say in front of the vanity she had placed next to the window, watching the soft glow of morning light stretch across the horizon. The city, once a battlefield of deception and danger, now breathed in quiet serenity. The past year had been a slow unraveling—one thread at a time—of pain, guilt, and the suffocating memories Peyton had left behind.

She exhaled, pressing her fingertips to the cool glass, tracing invisible lines as if drawing out the thoughts that refused to settle. Even now, she found it hard to believe it was over. Peyton was truly gone.

Some nights, when the silence became too loud, she still imagined hearing that familiar voice—whispering in the dark, taunting her with the possibility of another cruel trick. For the first five months after Peyton's confirmed death, sleep had been a foreign concept. She had tried closing her eyes, willing herself into rest, but every time, panic clawed at her throat. The paranoia had been unbearable—always waiting, always expecting Peyton to return, to slip into another identity, to make her question reality all over again.

But she was getting better. Slowly. The sharp edges of fear had dulled with time, softened by the presence of her family—by Rominic, especially.

At the thought of him, Lavender smiled, though a flicker of guilt stirred in her chest. He had been furious when she came back, his rage like a storm she had never seen before. The memory of that night burned in her mind—his voice shaking with a mixture of relief and betrayal, his hands trembling as he pulled her into an embrace only to push her away just as quickly.

"Do you even understand what you did?" he had demanded, his eyes dark with something deeper than anger—something raw. "Do you have any idea what I went through thinking I lost you?"

Lavender had apologized over and over again, but for the first month, he hadn't been able to look at her without resentment simmering beneath his gaze. He hadn't forgiven her for risking her life—hadn't forgiven himself for letting it happen. For weeks, he barely let her step outside the house, his protectiveness bordering on suffocating. She had rolled her eyes at his dramatics, calling him ridiculous, but she knew, deep down, his fear was real.

And now? Now, that storm had passed, replaced by something steadier and unshakable.

With Peyton gone and the world fed a distorted truth about her demise, the pieces of their lives had finally settled. The biggest surprise had been Peyton's twin. It turned out she had been secretly recovering all this time—her fragile body kept away from the chaos, protected by a butler who had noticed her deteriorating mental health long before anyone else had. He had arranged therapy for her in secret, nudging her toward healing without her even realizing it.

Motherhood had changed her, though whether it was the love for her newborn son or the devotion of her husband, Lavender couldn't be sure. What she did know was that, before Peyton's unexpected death, her twin had already begun making plans to free herself.

Lavender hadn't expected to find an ally in her, much less a friend. But through it all, they had grown—together, in ways neither had anticipated. With the ghosts of their past finally laid to rest, they focused on moving forward, on healing. They studied, worked, and met up from time to time, exchanging thoughts over coffee or quiet walks in the park. Rominic still disapproved, of course. His protective nature would never quite let go of the past, but Lavender no longer needed his permission.

Life, as strange as it was, had found a rhythm of normalcy again.

And now, she was standing at the cusp of another beginning.

Her wedding.

The thought sent a warmth through her, a flutter of something akin to nervous excitement. She never really had a proper wedding before, never got to walk down the aisle with the love of her life waiting at the end. The proposal had been perfect—Rominic, ever the romantic, had gotten down on one knee just weeks after Rylee had given birth to twins. The memory of it still made her heart swell, as if it had been the first step toward reclaiming herself.

She wasn't completely healed—she wasn't sure if she ever would be.

There were still fears. Still doubts.

Would she be a good mother? A good wife?

Would she ever stop feeling like the past had its claws in her, waiting for the right moment to drag her back?

But she was trying. Every day, she worked to become the kind of woman her children could depend on—the kind of mother, friend, sister, confidant they would never hesitate to turn to. The kind of woman she could one day look back on and be proud of.

The sound of hurried footsteps snapped her from her thoughts, and before she could turn, Anna burst into the room, her blonde hair a wild mess of curls, her expression frantic.

"You're not even dressed yet?" she exclaimed, hands on her hips, eyes wide with exasperation.

From the vanity, Tyra let out an amused hum, dabbing a final touch of highlighter onto Lavender's cheek. "Beauty takes time," she said cheekily, tossing a wink in Anna's direction.

Anna snorted. "Yeah, well, if you take any longer, the groom might think she ran off again."

Tyra gasped, placing a hand on her chest as if deeply offended. "Excuse you? This is art in the making. Do you think I'd let my best work be rushed?"

Lavender laughed, the sound light and easy, surprising even herself. It had been so long since she had felt this—this happiness, unburdened by fear.

Before Anna could retort, Kara, Rominic's mother, stepped in, her presence carrying the quiet authority of a woman who had orchestrated a lifetime of important events. "Enough chatter," she said, clapping her hands together. "It's time."

And just like that, the moment was here.

Minutes blurred together in a rush of fabric and perfume, of gentle hands fastening the last button on her gown, of whispered words of encouragement and the final touch of a delicate veil draped over her hair.

Then she was standing at the entrance of the aisle.

The world quieted.

All the noise—the laughter, the teasing, the nervous energy—faded into nothingness as her gaze locked onto the man at the end of the aisle.

Rominic.

Her heart swelled, a thousand emotions colliding in her chest all at once. He stood there, waiting, his dark eyes never leaving hers, his expression unreadable yet so full of everything she had ever needed.

Love. Patience. Devotion.

She had made it.

She had survived.

And as she took that first step forward, she knew—whatever the future held, whatever storms awaited them—it didn't matter.

Because for the first time in a long time, she was truly looking forward to it.