In the life that was once mine.
With the secrets that were my own.
And I choose to smile, because life is all about the choices we make.
We choose to see things one way or the other.
We choose to accept or to hate.
We choose to be happy or sad.
Bitter or grateful.
To forgive or blame.
To hold on or let go.
When I look back on that former life, I don’t resent it. It’s a part of me. Part of my journey. So, I carry those scars with me, and I choose to wear them like a badge of honor. Like a warrior.
Because that’s who I am.
That’s who I choose to be.
Callie the Courageous.
Epilogue
Cole
Five Years Later
“From the moment you called me the landscaper, I knew that we’d be together.”
Callie’s head tilts back and her eyes squeeze closed as a full belly laugh bursts from her throat. “You are so full of shit.”
I grin. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know we’d be together just then. But I think I somehow knew that you were important. Special.”
Callie’s expression softens, and she leans in to brush her lips against mine. Then she whispers, “I thought you were an asshole.”
I give her shoulder a playful shove, and she laughs again.
Callie’s laughter is one of my favorite sounds in the world.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
My son calling me Daddy is another.
“Whoa there.” Callie intercepts Nicholas, scooping him up before he can fling himself into my arms like he often does. “Remember what we talked about, little man?”
His dark brows pull together as his steel-blue eyes roam over the small bundle in my arms. “Be careful so I don’t hurt Layla.”
“Good job.” Callie threads her fingers through his brown curls. “Want to help feed her?”
His eyes turn to saucers. “Yes!”
I bite back a smile at the sound of his lisp. “Come sit next to me, and I’ll hand her to you.”
He climbs up beside me on the couch, and Callie wedges a decorative pillow under his elbow. “You have to hold her head up.”
“I know, I know.”
I transfer my daughter to my son’s arms, and my heart swells with immense pride.
My babies.
Callie dabs at the corner of her eye as Nicholas strokes Layla’s cheek.
“Her skin is so much darker than mines,” he says.
I smooth my palm over the crown of Layla’s head. “It is.”
“Why do you call her black when her skin is brown?”
Callie smiles as she adjusts the angle of the bottle in his hand. “That’s a good question. I don’t know. We’re peach-colored, yet we’re called white.”
Nicholas nods. “That’s weird.”
Callie met a young woman named Cynthia at group last year. Cynthia had just found out that she was pregnant, and was contemplating getting an abortion. She’d never wanted to get pregnant, but she’d been raped, and therefore didn’t want to keep the baby. After spending time in both therapy and group, Cynthia changed her mind. She decided that she wanted to put her baby up for adoption instead.
Callie and I had applied for adoption earlier that year. We’d enjoyed the one-on-one time with Nicholas, and with him going off to kindergarten in the fall, we thought it’d be the perfect time to expand our family.
Sometimes, you can’t fathom why awful things happen in life. People say there’s a reason for everything, and maybe they’re right, but I still haven’t been able to understand why Mia had to die. I’m not sure I ever will.
Yet I have been able to appreciate the good that came after those bad times.
Cynthia may never know why she had to go through something so heinous, but she knows that her daughter will always be loved. She knows that a miracle arose from the ashes.
We adopted Cynthia’s daughter two months ago.
“I love you, Layla Mia.” Nicholas leans in and nuzzles the tip of his nose against hers. “I’m going to be the bestest big brother.”
My vision blurs, and I swipe a tear away with my thumb. “Yes, you are, bud.”
Glancing down at Nicholas and Layla, I know in my heart that this was always supposed to be the way my life ended up. Maybe I didn’t see it when Callie Kingston—now Callie Luciano—mistook me for the landscaper, but I see it so clearly now.
After Nicholas finishes feeding Layla, Callie takes her to the bedroom to burp her and get her ready for bed.
Nicholas latches onto my hand when I stand, and I lead him to his bedroom.
“Daddy, can you sing that lion song to me tonight?” He jumps on top of his Spiderman comforter and scoots underneath the sheets. “The one you sing to Layla?”
“Of course.” I lower myself onto the edge of his bed. “You like that song?”
He nods emphatically. “I want to learn the words so I can sing it to Layla.”
My heart squeezes. “I think she’d love that.”
I sing the first few lines, and Nicholas repeats after me. We practice them until he has them down, and then I tell him we’ll learn the next verse tomorrow night. He pouts, of course.
So, I end up teaching him half the song.
The kid’s a little con artist. He knows how to crumble my resolve.
After he falls asleep, I tiptoe into the hallway and gently close his door. My next stop is Layla’s room. She’s sound asleep in her milk coma, so I kiss my fingertips and touch them to her head.
When I step into our bedroom, she’s sitting up against the cream-colored quilted headboard, eyes closed and mouth open.
I let out a soft chuckle, and click off the lamp on her nightstand. Her eyes flutter open as I press a kiss to her forehead.
“Are they asleep?” she mumbles.
“For now.”
I climb in beside her, and curl around her body, inhaling her sweet floral scent.
A small moan vibrates in her throat, and she reaches back to run her fingers through my hair. “We should have sex now before one of them wakes up.”
I chuckle. “You’re exhausted, angel. Sleep.”
She mutters something incomprehensible that sounds like a protest, but her arm drops back onto the mattress, and she’s out cold.
I lie awake for a short while, listening to the sound of her steady breaths.
Fear still grips me in the middle of the night. I’ll wake up in a cold sweat once in a while, and rush from room to room, checking on my kids. Therapy has helped, but I don’t think anything can take away the worry of a parent—especially one who’s suffered the loss of a child.
Callie understands. She’s patient with me, and validates my neuroses. I don’t think I could love her more for all the ways she’s helped me. She came into my life when I was at my lowest, drowning in the depths of despair, and somehow, she brought me to higher ground.
My angel.
For a long time, I wasn’t sure what was left of me after everything I’d endured.
Now, I am filled with an endless amount of love.
Now, I am complete.
When you’re sure you’ve lost everything, there’s one thing that always remains deep down inside yourself.