Life 2.0
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 14: Building Tomorrow
EPILOGUE
Part 1: Eighteen Months Later – September
Ji-Eun walked through Central Park on a Saturday afternoon, Brent beside her. The Empower prosthetic had become so familiar she barely thought about it anymore—just part of how she moved through the world.
They’d developed this routine over the past year. Saturday walks, no destination, just time together away from work and medical appointments and the relentless pace of Manhattan.
“Remember the first time we came here?” Brent asked.
“When I made it three blocks before needing to rest?” Ji-Eun smiled. “That was brutal.”
“You were six weeks post-prosthetic. You’d just gotten medical clearance to work.”
“And you insisted we celebrate by walking through the park like normal people.”
“We are normal people.”
“You know what I mean.”
They reached Bow Bridge—their spot, though neither had said it out loud. The place they’d come when Ji-Eun was still learning to trust the prosthetic on uneven ground, still learning to trust that Brent meant it when he said he wasn’t going anywhere.
Brent stopped in the middle of the bridge. Turned to face her.
“What?” Ji-Eun asked.
“I made a promise eighteen months ago.” His voice was steady, serious. “That I’d never leave you.”
“I remember.”
“In that time, we’ve forged a life out of tragedy, pain, and teamwork.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small box. Opened it.
Ji-Eun’s breath caught. A ring—simple, elegant, a single diamond that caught the afternoon light.
“Ji-Eun,” Brent said. “Will you marry me? Spend the rest of your days with me and give me the pleasure of keeping my promise to you?”
Her vision blurred. She’d known this was coming—of course she’d known—but the reality of it hit harder than expected.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, absolutely yes.”
He slid the ring onto her finger—perfect fit, like he’d somehow known her exact size. Then pulled her close, kissing her while tourists walked past and the city continued around them and everything felt exactly right.
“I love you,” she said when they broke apart.
“I love you too. Always have, always will.”
They stood there on Bow Bridge, engaged, planning a future that eighteen months ago had seemed impossible.
Part 2: Two Years Post-Accident – March
The wedding was small by New York standards. Twenty guests. A boutique hotel in Tribeca. Evening ceremony, dinner reception, nothing elaborate or showy.
Ji-Eun’s parents had flown in from Seoul three days earlier, bringing her cousin Park Minji with them. Minji was twenty-three, fresh out of nursing school, wide-eyed at Manhattan and determined to be helpful.
“Your mother wants to adjust your dress again,” Minji said, hovering in the doorway of the bridal suite. “She thinks the hemline isn’t even.”
“The hemline is fine.” Ji-Eun examined herself in the mirror. The dress was ivory silk, tea-length, tailored perfectly to accommodate the prosthetic without drawing attention to it. She’d worn her hair up, minimal jewelry, low heels she could actually walk in.
She looked ... happy. That was the startling part. Not just content or functional, but genuinely happy.
Her mother bustled in, already crying though the ceremony hadn’t started. “My daughter. So beautiful.”
“Eomma, don’t start yet. You’ll ruin your makeup.”
“I cry when I want.” But her mother smiled through the tears. “You look perfect. And Brent—he is good man. Takes care of you.”
“We take care of each other.”
“Even better.” Her mother adjusted an invisible wrinkle in the dress. “When you were in hospital, I thought—” She stopped, composing herself. “I thought I would lose you. But you are strong. Stronger than before.”
“I had help.”
“Yes. From Brent. From doctors. From God.” Her mother touched Ji-Eun’s face gently. “But mostly from yourself. You chose to fight. That is what matters.”
A knock. Minji peeked in. “Five minutes.”
Ji-Eun took a final look in the mirror. Two years ago, she’d been lying in Mt. Sinai hospital learning to stand on one leg. Today, she was getting married.
Life was strange. Brutal and beautiful in equal measure.
The ceremony took place in the hotel’s rooftop garden. Twenty guests seated in neat rows. Brent at the front with the officiant, looking nervous and proud and exactly like the man who’d stood beside her through the worst eighteen months of her life.
Ji-Eun walked down the aisle with her father—slowly, carefully, the prosthetic hidden beneath the dress. No one stared. No one whispered. They just watched a bride walk toward her future.
Brent’s expression when he saw her—pure joy. Like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
The officiant began. Ji-Eun barely heard the standard words. She was too focused on Brent’s hands holding hers, on his smile, on the absolute certainty that this was right.
“Do you, Brent Arnold, take Ji-Eun Park to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“Do you, Ji-Eun Park, take Brent Arnold to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Brent kissed her—gentle, reverent, full of promise. Their guests applauded. Ji-Eun’s mother cried openly. Her father looked stern but his eyes were wet.
When they broke apart, Brent whispered: “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saying yes. For building this life with me. For being brave enough to love me back.”
“That was the easy part,” Ji-Eun said.
The reception was intimate. Dinner, toasts, dancing. Paul Nakamura gave a toast that made everyone laugh—something about being glad he didn’t have to take this case to trial because Ji-Eun’s cross-examination skills would’ve terrified opposing counsel.
Marcus, the prosthetist, gave a toast about resilience and the human body’s capacity to adapt. “I’ve fit hundreds of prosthetics. I’ve never seen anyone master the Empower system as fast as Ji-Eun. She’s extraordinary.”
Keisha gave a toast that made Ji-Eun cry. “Two years ago, I met a woman who couldn’t stand for sixty seconds. Who was terrified and angry and convinced her life was over. Today, I’m watching that same woman dance at her wedding. If that’s not proof that we’re stronger than we think, I don’t know what is.”
When it was time for the first dance, Brent led Ji-Eun to the small dance floor. The DJ played something slow and romantic.
“Wanna dance?” Brent asked—their ritual, their private joke.
“Only if I lead,” Ji-Eun replied.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
They swayed together—not the desperate clinging of early therapy sessions, not the tentative balance of first attempts. Just two people, married, moving together because they chose to.
“Thank you,” Ji-Eun whispered against his shoulder.
“For what?”