Hell, yeah, so am I.
Thousands of training hours logged, but none prepared me for the moment the ref tears me off the back of a champ—former champ—stopping the fight as the crowd goes nuts.
I’m declared winner by TKO.
First thing I do is find my girl. I jump over the Octagon to get to her, brimming with pride right there in my corner.
“I love you!” Della shouts.
I squeeze her in one arm, my shiny new belt in the other. “I love you, too, Sunshine.”
This moment is everything I’ve ever worked hard for.
This was always my fight.
I know too well what it’s like to have nothing—no money, no family, no love. That’s why I work hard and set my intention, that’s why I win.
Gamblers put down a lot of money on some of these fights, but I take no chances.
I wanted Della, I knew I’d have Della.
And whenever she says those three little words, I’m the happiest man on this earth.
Epilogue
Della – Ten years later
Trent believes all things happen when we make it happen. He envisions a future, plots the course, and voila, it manifests.
He’s my husband of going on nine years now. So, naturally, I disagree.
I believe the best things happen to us when we least expect it. Trent’s philosophy vibes with him—that’s how he chooses to view life, and it isn’t a bad way to be.
But for me, if I only achieved the things I ever really struck out for, I’m not sure I’d be where I am today. Taking risks, seizing the moment, being brave…that’s how I’ve lived.
He would agree with that part, at least. Maybe our mindset isn’t really so different.
The truth is I never knew what I wanted until it showed up, grabbed hold, and never let go. And that was Trent.
Happily ever after isn’t without its ups and downs. From the time I turned thirty to today—my fortieth birthday—we’ve experienced our share of both. Together we’ve gotten four tattoos, lost one parent (my dad passed five years ago), broke up once, found out how lost we were without each other, got back together, got married, had about a thousand more arguments, adopted a dog.
We’ve shared in the grief of two miscarriages, and shared in the joy of two births. Our Lucy and Caitlin, born just seven minutes apart.
I look into the family room, transfixed in awe. My best friend and now sister-in-law, Lucia, wrestling with all the kids. Her two are Luke, 13, and Sara, 5. My Nathanial is 14 now, and his twin sisters turn 7 next month. Out on the patio getting an early start on wine are Trent’s parents, my inspiring in-laws—Sam “Soldier” Valentine and Ava, his everlasting bride. They both retired early just to spend more time together, and they do. They’re so in love and it’s a beautiful sight to behold.
Trent and my mom bring out the cake and the guests all turn as one to look at me. Voices ranging in age from seventy to seven sing Happy Birthday in a chorus I’ll never get tired of.
No matter how many more birthdays are in store for me.
I count the candles on the cake. Trent could’ve grabbed a ‘4’ and a ‘0’ but no, he got forty individual birthday candles and lit every one of those suckers up.
He thinks he’s funny.
OK, so maybe he is a little bit funny.
Turns out life is made up of numbers. Some of them matter, and some of them don’t.
One love, one heart, one home—that’s us.
I close my eyes and make a wish: continued health and happiness and lots of love for my beautiful family. I have everything else, so that’s all I have to wish for.
Oh! And future grandkids!
The End