Although I came back a stronger version than I left, I was far from healed, and I’m starting to learn that some of my deepest scars might never fade completely. That’s okay.
The late nights Zach held me in bed, bathed in a strip of silvery moonlight, as I cried over my past are now some of my favorite memories.
My home is in his arms, and his is in mine.
What I’ve found, more than anything, is that my pain becomes beautiful in his embrace, like a butterfly leaving its cocoon—a connection that buries our anchor deeper into the stirred-up seabed.
“Hey,” he says, coaxing my teary eyes to his. “It’s okay to feel it all, Ark. You deserve this and every good thing coming your way. This is only the beginning.”
Placing my hand on the back of his neck, feeling the curls of soft hair there, I kiss his lips, tasting the sweetness that is Zachary Beckett.
Resting my forehead against his, I correct him, “Wedeserve every good thing comingourway.”
“That too,” he replies, taking my hand in his. “Let’s go find our families.”
EPILOGUE 2
ZACH
Years later
I shouldn’t hover in the doorway like this, leaning up against the frame, but it always warms my heart to see how engaged Ark is with the kids.
The boy seated on the mat with him can’t be more than six years old, with bright blue eyes, just like my man, and Scandinavian blonde hair.
Today, they’re playing Buckaroo, a children’s game that involves a donkey and various items to load onto it without bucking them off.
Facing away from me, Arkin picks up one of the game pieces. “Alright, you know the drill, little man. Before I place this, I need to describe it. Hmm, what do you think a rope is used for?”
The boy blinks at him with eager eyes. “Uh… to tie stuff up? Like horses or donkeys.”
“Very good. Well done, Daniel.” He hands the boy the next piece. “Now it’s your turn. Are you ready? Let’s practice this phrase: ‘Buckaroo is ready to ride.’ Do you remember that strong ‘R’ sound we practiced the other day?”
Arms folded across my chest, I rest my head against the doorframe, barely able to contain my big grin.
Arkin knew early on that he wanted to work as a speech therapist to help children who needed that little extra help, and I have to say—he’s a natural with kids.
It’s truly a beautiful thing to witness this 6’4 tank of a man use his voice, a voice he fought so hard to get back, to help other children grow in confidence and improve their verbal skills.
“Buckaroo is ready to wide…” The boy’s eyes widen. “Uh, no,ride!”
“Nice catch, lad. You’re getting better at those ‘R’ sounds,” my husband praises.
Yes, that’s correct. We got married two years ago down in Cornwall in a small ceremony with our closest friends and family.
Daniel balances the blanket piece on the Buckaroo’s back, and for a moment, we all hold our breath. The donkey doesn’t buck. Phew! Even I’m invested now.
My husband holds his hand up for a high-five. “Great teamwork. You’re doing awesome with your sounds today. Let’s…” He drifts off when he notices Daniel looking at me.
Glancing over his shoulder, the indents in his cheeks make an appearance. “This is a private session,” he tells me with a flirtatious smile.
As always when he looks at me like that, I have to get my head out of the gutter, especially now that there’s a kid in the room with us.
Arkin turns back to the kid, still crouched, his white shirt stretching tight across his broad shoulders, and starts packing up the game. “That’s all for today, little man. Good job. Keep practicing those ‘R’ sounds over the weekend, and I’ll see you back here next week.” They bump knuckles, and the little kid giggles before running past me to his father, who has just arrivedto collect him. I eye them holding hands as they walk down the hallway, wondering if Arkin and I’ll adopt one day or if we’ll stay content as dog parents to our two very loud, very energetic huskies.
Warm fingers wrap around the back of my neck. Lips gracing the shell of my ear, Arkin whispers, “You better not be checking out another man, husband.”
A slow smirk forms on my lips, but I don’t respond either way, content stirring him up a little on this bleak day.
