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I linger on the beach, pondering that question.
“I found you.” Silky armsencircle my waist. Dee’s soft cheek rests against my back. She breathes out a contented sigh.
“I went for a jog. Didn’t want to wake you up too early.”
“You can wake me any time.”
Smiling, I turn in her arms and kiss the tip of her nose. Her golden eyes, brighter than the sun, glitter up at me. She looks beautiful. Sable spirals that refuse to be tamed; naturally pretty face that doesn’t require makeup; soft, feminine curves beneath a simple white cotton dress that skims the top of her bare feet and dips low at the neck. At ten weeks pregnant, her breasts are already fuller, her belly is rounder. Changes that make my heart swell.
I touch her stomach, feeling blessed by the miracle of it, awed by the responsibility. This little being will be mine, to take care of, to love, to nurture. I’ll draw from all the things and the people that have shaped my life, and made me the man I am now, and the father I will be.
One day I’ll tell our sons and daughters about Luiza, the grandmother our children will never have the joy of meeting. About how she taught me compassion and gave me the creative gift of writing. I won’t paint her as a victim. She was strong. She loved and protected me as best she could. I would want our children to know that about her.
I’ll tell them about the warmth and generosity of the Torreses. About how Cayo taught me to ride a bike and how Rita bandaged my knee when I fell off. I’ll tell them of how they cared about a little boy next door and made me theirs. Of how they encouraged me to be my own person andfind my own path. Of how they gave me a brother and sisters, and showed me that lasting bonds have nothing to do with bloodlines or DNA.
I’ll tell our children about the day I met their mother—the girl of my dreams. I’ll tell them about the way she would change my life with just one look. The way she would brighten my world and fill it with love and sunshine and hope.
There are so many things I will tell our sons and daughters. About being kind and good. About standing up for what’s right. About honesty. About truth.
“You seem reflective,” Dee says, breaking through my thoughts. She squints up at me against the sun. “Like you’re weighing something heavy.”
“Asher called. O’Malley posted that he’s writing a book about Malcolm’s threats to stop him from uncovering the dirt.”
“That didn’t take long.”
“Nope.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Legal action will only spike up the curiosity and make him more relevant. As long as he doesn’t say anything that hurts you or hurts us, I’m not sure I care.”
“Wow, that’s big.”
“My priorities have changed.”
“I can see that.” She brings her palm to cover my hand that’s still pressed against her belly.
“I’ve made a decision about addressing the shooting and Malcolm.” I hadn’t known what I was going to do right up until I saw her, carrying our baby. But looking into Dee’s eyes, it feels right. “I don’t want a PR event with a room full of reporters and the paparazzi. That’s too impersonal. Bianca handled our interview with class. She wasn’t out for blood. I like her and trust her.”
“Me too. What have you decided to say?”
“The truth. All of it. I owe that to my mother. To the cause. And to myself. I want our children to be proud of me. To see that whatever bad things happen in your life don’t have to define you. I learned that from you. I want them to know that I survived abuse and I’m not ashamed to openly admit it or talk about it.”
She throws her arms around me, thrilled by my decision. “Our children are going to know that their father is a man of integrity, who is deeply good, intelligent, talented, loyal, and strong, and who taught me the true meaning of love.”
Dee
Later that night, we walkalong the beach under the moonlight. Mick extends his hand. Our palms meet, our fingers interlock. Our steps sink into the soft grains of sand, falling in tandem. We’ve hit our stride. The bond between us grows stronger every day.
My husband smiles over at me. I feel it in the center of my chest. He doesn’t say anything. I don’t need him to. The depth of emotion echoes loudly through the quiet.
Our journey hasn’t been easy. But we have persevered and come through it stronger, more confident, more resilient. We have emerged from thunderous storms, battled threats, and banished our ghosts to distant lands.
We have stripped away the layers to expose the raw. Bared ourselves. Our hearts. Our souls. Our very essence. There are no secrets between us, only honesty and acceptance. And in those, we found the infinite beauty of what it means to be loved naked.
