Lina's career reached new heights.
Her books translated into dozens of languages. Film adaptations were discussed. Awards piled up. She traveled for events, though less now—unwilling to leave the children for long.
Kai's career soared too.
He composed for major films, won international recognition, was called "one of the most important composers of his generation." But he always prioritized family, turning down projects that would take him away too long.
"We're lucky," Lina said one night, reviewing their accomplishments. "So many people never get this."
"We worked for it." Kai pulled her close. "And we have each other. That's the real luck."
The media still followed them occasionally.
"Power couple," the headlines called them. "Creative dynasty." "Love story for the ages."
They ignored most of it, focusing on what mattered—their children, their work, their marriage.
"Do you ever miss the privacy?" Lina asked.
"Sometimes. But I wouldn't trade this for anything." He gestured vaguely at their life—the messy house, the children's art on the fridge, the evidence of a life fully lived.
"Me neither."