Years later, Alexander sat in the Whitmore estate's grand study, watching the fire crackle in the hearth. His hair had silvered, and lines had formed on his face, but his heart was lighter than it had ever been.
Eleanor sat beside him, her hand resting over his. "You did it," she murmured.
Alexander smiled. "Did what?"
"Changed everything."
A laugh rumbled from his chest. "Not everything. But the things that mattered."
At that moment, the door burst open, and Edward—now a grown man—stepped inside. Behind him was his wife, a lovely woman with kind eyes, holding the hand of a small boy.
"Grandfather!" the child squealed, running forward.
Alexander bent down, scooping the boy into his arms. "And who is this young gentleman?"
Edward grinned. "This is Alexander. Named after the best man I know."
A lump formed in Alexander's throat. He looked down at the boy—his grandson—his second chance, reborn into another form.
Holding the child close, he smiled.
For the first time in two lifetimes, he had no regrets.
He had done it right.
---
The End.