ISN'T SHE LOVELY | hs

EPILOGUE 2

| MICKAYLA |
Sunday 21st May, 2028

Mrs Mickayla Addams-Styles.

I could say that my new name and title is going to take some adjusting, but I'd be straight-up lying. It feels good, fits right. I've been ready to be the wife of sunshine long before he lit up my life.

And he's beaming now, like he always is, hand in mine as we walk away from my happy place in Hampstead Heath toward his.

Having our wedding in these two spots was a given, divvying up the areas easy. A private ceremony for just us at the tree stump beneath the wonky willow tree of our second meeting, the reception with everybody else at the pond where we first connected. I can hear them all now, even with a few more minutes of walking to do.

It's not a journey done without fanfare, either. Strangers smile as they walk by, offering their congratulations and best wishes to us - the very obvious newlyweds in our wedding attire.

We smile and thank them back, though Harry goes the extra mile by adding and emphasising the words 'my wife' and 'I'm a husband' wherever he can, because he's just as gassed to officially be mine as I am to be his. It's long overdue, though we had valid reasons for the delay.

Life happened. And it's been fucking glorious.

On the career side of things, my gallery took off in ways I always dreamt of happening, but never deemed possible. I've accomplished things in the art world that make me feel an insane amount of pride for not only myself, but the countless artists I've put on the map.

And despite what he tells everyone, none of it would have been possible without Harry. Because not only did he buy me the gallery in the first place, but he took a step back from his own business to help mine flourish.

Post accident and the coma that followed, Harry took an extended absence from The Pink Label, promoting Ariza to run the show. He needed the time to heal both physically and mentally, which has of course since happened, and also needed time to find his parenting feet. Which he absolutely fucking did - the world's best Dad title belongs to him and him only.

A big part of Harry's sabbatical stemmed from the fact he'd missed the first two weeks of Stevie's life, and he didn't want to miss another second. Therapy helped him deal with the guilt he felt and the blame he placed on himself for that happening. As did some gentle guidance from me that put a lot of things were put into perspective.

Spend as much time as you can, whenever you can, with your loved ones. Life is too short, too precarious. So precious. Money and success means fuck all once your time on Earth is up.

So he kept delaying his return to TPL, and kept delaying it, and kept delaying it. Harry became a stay-at-home Dad to our little one, nudging me toward achieving my dreams, instead.

"With your help, all mine have come true, riot girl," he said during a late-night feed with Stevie, our conversations erring more on the serious and deep side during the witching hour, likely due to exhaustion. "It's your turn now. And I'm here to lend a hand in every way I can."

With the go-ahead from my best friend and biggest supporter, the knowledge that our baby girl would be taken care of to allow me all the time and freedom to get the gallery going, and a fire in my belly like nothing I've ever felt before, I did just that. We did just that.

It's been almost four years since the doors of Riot Sunshine opened, each one better than the last.

And Harry is yet to return to work.

Sort of.

He's no longer producing music, but he is still The Pink Label's CEO and founder. Harry also conflabs with Ariza weekly, who is still the studio's main man, to check the progress of every clients projects - and there's a whole fucking lot of those now; the company pretty much at full capacity - while also sourcing new talent through social media for future endeavours. He gets a decent percentage of the profits for doing very little, though I suppose that's a perk of establishing what's become a major label every budding British artist wants to be attached to.