Reaching My Star | A Chaennie AU

Epilogue

Fifteen years had passed since Rosé got down on one knee at the secluded beach, since Jennie tearfully said yes, and since their lives shifted into a new chapter of love, family, and quiet fulfillment. They had moved to the US shortly after their wedding, leaving behind the chaos of the K-pop world that had consumed much of their early lives. Now, they lived a quieter existence, running their winery and raising two daughters in a way that felt natural, without the constant weight of public scrutiny.

Rosé had slowly withdrawn from music, releasing fewer songs over the years. After their second daughter, Harin, was born—a spitting image of Rosé with her delicate features and sharp eyes—Rosé made the decision to fully retire. Jennie, too, had become less involved in her ice cream business, managing things from afar, but no longer as hands-on as she had once been. Their lives now revolved around their children, their love, and the small world they'd built together in the California hills.

But tonight wasn't about Rosé and Jennie—it was about Hayoon.

At 22, Hayoon had already become a rising director and producer in Hollywood. She had grown up with a fierce sense of independence and creativity, starting in the industry early. Now, she was about to debut her first fully independent film, one that had already garnered attention from critics and fans alike. This was more than just a film for her; it was a statement, a tribute, and a way to finally share her family's truth with the world.

The night of the premiere, the theater was packed with celebrities, industry executives, and devoted fans. Jennie and Rosé sat in the back, holding hands, their hearts filled with pride and a quiet nervousness. Harin, now 13, sat between them, fidgeting excitedly in her seat, whispering about how cool it was to see her big sister's name on the screen. But Hayoon, as poised and confident as ever, was standing in front of the audience, introducing her film.

The movie wasn't an exact retelling of their lives, but it was close. It was a story about love, identity, and the courage to live authentically. Hayoon had poured everything into it, crafting a narrative that would resonate not just with the LGBTQ+ community but with anyone who had ever felt the pressure to conform, to hide, to silence parts of themselves in order to fit into the world's expectations.

As the final scenes played, a hush fell over the crowd. The audience watched a montage of moments from the movie—scenes of love and hardship, of family and quiet triumphs. Then, as the screen darkened, a soft, familiar melody played, one that long-time fans of Rosé would recognize instantly. It was a song from her early career, a ballad about finding home in another person.

Suddenly, the screen faded back to life, showing a simple dedication: "In dedication to my Mommy and my Mimi."

The image that followed was of the four of them—Jennie, Rosé, Hayoon, and Harin—standing together, arms wrapped around one another, smiling beneath the California sun. It was a candid family photo, not staged or glamorous, just real. The audience stirred as whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

"Is that Rosé?"

The realization dawned slowly, spreading from one person to the next like wildfire. People had speculated for years, wondering about the closeness between Rosé and Jennie, but nothing had ever been confirmed—until now.

As the lights came up, the crowd rose to their feet, breaking into applause. It wasn't just applause—it was a three-minute standing ovation. For the film, for Hayoon's bravery, and for the truth that had finally been shared with the world.

Backstage, Jennie and Rosé couldn't contain their pride. Hayoon had pulled off something remarkable, and the overwhelming applause still echoed in their ears.

"You were amazing!" Rosé beamed, pulling Hayoon into a tight hug. "You made us so proud. You're incredible."

Hayoon, for all her cool composure, melted into her mother's embrace, feeling the warmth of her approval. "Thanks, Mimi. I just... I had to tell the story the way I felt it should be told."

Jennie stood nearby, her eyes filled with emotion. "You did more than that, Hayoon. You gave people hope, and you did it in such a beautiful way." She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. "I don't think I've ever been more proud of you."

Harin chimed in, jumping up and down beside them. "I told you it was gonna be awesome! You're, like, famous now, Unnie!"

Hayoon laughed, shaking her head. "Not famous, Harin. But thanks."

"No, really," Jennie said, her voice soft yet filled with conviction. "What you did tonight, Hayoon... it's going to change things. You gave us all a voice. Not just for us, but for anyone who's ever felt like they couldn't be themselves."

Rosé smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. "You're everything I ever hoped you'd be, and so much more."

Hayoon, always composed and collected in public, felt her own tears threaten to spill over. "I just wanted to make you both proud. That's all."

Jennie and Rosé looked at each other, knowing they didn't need to say anything more. They were beyond proud. They were in awe.

Later that night, after the premiere's excitement had calmed and they had returned home, Rosé and Jennie sat on the couch, holding each other close. Harin had gone to bed, exhausted but still buzzing with excitement from the evening. Hayoon had stayed out a bit longer, celebrating with her friends and co-workers. The house was quiet, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Rosé and Jennie could just be together.

Rosé turned to Jennie, her eyes soft and reflective. "Can you believe it? Our daughter, standing up there in front of all those people, telling the world our story."

Jennie smiled, leaning into her. "She's remarkable, isn't she? It feels like just yesterday we were trying to figure all this out ourselves."

Rosé chuckled softly, resting her head against Jennie's shoulder. "We've come a long way, haven't we?"

"We have," Jennie said, her voice filled with quiet wonder. "But what amazes me the most is that through it all, we've stayed the same. We've always had each other."

Rosé kissed the top of Jennie's head, feeling the weight of all those years, all their shared moments, both good and bad. "You've been my constant, Jennie. I've never wanted anything else."

Jennie lifted her head, meeting Rosé's gaze. "Neither have I."

The depth of their connection, forged over decades, was unspoken but palpable. They didn't need grand gestures or dramatic declarations anymore—they were beyond that. What they had now was something more profound: the quiet, unwavering certainty of knowing they would be together forever.

Without saying another word, Jennie leaned in, pressing her lips softly against Rosé's. The kiss was tender but filled with the kind of love that had only deepened with time. It wasn't about passion or drama—it was about everything they had built together, the life they had shared, and the future they would continue to face hand in hand.

In the years that followed, life slowed down even more for Rosé and Jennie. They remained in the background, away from the spotlight, content with the life they had built. Their winery flourished, and they found peace in the small moments—sipping coffee on their porch, watching their daughters grow into strong, independent women.

Hayoon continued to make films, telling stories that mattered. Harin, was already showing signs of her mother's creativity, always with a notebook in hand, sketching or writing songs. The future was wide open, full of possibility.

And as the sun set on their quiet vineyard, Jennie and Rosé sat together on the porch, hands entwined, watching as their daughters ran through the rows of grapevines, laughing and playing.

Their love had become more than just a story. It had become a legacy—one of quiet strength, unwavering devotion, and the courage to live authentically, no matter the cost.

And it was a love that would continue, always. Forever.