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“This is such a gift,” she whispers.
“Rosie.”
We turn to find Ryland standing at the balcony door, wearing a pair of shorts, his body dappled in sweat for the gym.
“I think I’ll give you two a minute,” Mom says, striding from the balcony.
She blows me a kiss as she walks into the bedroom, something she hasn’t done in years. It reminds me of when I was very young and I thought she’d live forever.
“Tell me I heard you right,” Ryland says, walking onto the balcony.
His chest shimmers in the sunlight, his abs tight and well-defined. My body hums warmly when I think about how quickly he moved when he defended us, tackling Vito.
Like a lion, he protected our territory.
And he’ll do the same with our family.
“Did I hear you right?” he growls, walking right over to me, his scent enveloping me. “Please tell me I heard you right.”
“I’m pregnant,” I sing.
“Yes,” he roars, looping his arms around me and lifting me off my feet.
I giggle as he spins me around and around, cheering and squeezing me close to him. The joy blurs through me at a million miles per hour, making my whole body light up like a Christmas tree.
He puts me down and lays his lips against mine, both of us gasping and moaning through the contact.
“I’m so happy,” I cry when he releases me, keeping his face close to mine just in case he wants to kiss me again.
I’m starting to learn my man’s lustful ways like only a fiancé can, and I wouldn’t change a freaking thing.
“You sound surprised,” he smiles.
“I guess I thought… I don’t know, that we were moving too fast.”
He grins, happier then I’ve ever seen him. “But that’s—”
“Impossible for us,” I say, running my hands through his silver hair. “I know. Isn’t this amazing, Ryland?”
“Amazing doesn’t even come close,” he growls, stepping back so he can bring his hand to rest on my belly. “I can feel him, her—our child. I can feel our child.”
But that’s impossible, a voice says, but it falls quiet before it can take control of my lips.
I can feel the life within me to.
Extended Epilogue
One Year Later
Ryland
I stand at the classroom window with baby Jacqueline in my arms, rocking her softly as I gaze across the bright colorful room.
Baby Jackie sighs softly in her sleep, her cheek resting against my shoulder.
Rosie keeps saying she’s a Daddy’s girl because she’ll fall asleep instantly in my arms. She’s always smiling as she says it, with her wifely radiance, so I know there are no hard feelings.
And it’s not like little Jackie doesn’t sometimes collapse atop her chest for a nap, making it so she can’t move for hours at a time… and smiling with each passing moment.
I glance down at Chopper.
“No growling, little man,” I murmur.
He grins up at me as if to say, Yes sir.
The room is full of children, sitting cross-legged on the floor as they gaze up at my wife. Rosie is wearing a dress as colorful as the classroom, billowing around her and catching the late-spring sunlight.
I carry Jackie to an open window, gazing through at her.
Rosie’s eyes move over to us, and a broad grin spreads across her face. When she smiles like this, it reminds me of our wedding day, when she lit up beneath the altar, like any second she could erupt into starlight.
She shone with her post-pregnancy glow, and as her smile widened, the more certain I became that I needed to be with her.
Which was a shock.
I didn’t think I could get more certain about her.
“What are you looking at, Mrs. Radley?” a young boy asks.
Hearing her name with mine attached causes more certain life to thunder awake inside of me.
Anytime I hear it or read it, I feel this same sureness, moving through me as passionately as my need to have more children.
“My husband and my daughter,” Rosie says, pride brimming in her voice. “Say hello, children.”
They all turn and wave, saying hello in cute unison.
I smile and wave back with my free hand, and then turn little Jackie so she can nod a hello. Chopper even lets out a low rumble, as though in greeting.
I aim my smile at my woman, radiant as she beams back at me.
Happiness has flooded into our lives.
Jackie – who our Jackie is named after – is in remission, getting better every day. Harold and Thomas are doing well. My wife has started her path in life, volunteering as a creative writing teacher for underprivileged kids to get vital experience.
And I’ve started to teach unruly youths – kids who need a second chance – martial arts, discipline, respect.
“Anyway,” Rosie says, giving me one of her cute-as-heck mock glares, “let’s get on with the class.”
I smile, drinking in the sight of her, and then kiss my daughter on the top of the head.
