Eventually, he got over it. I had more than proven I wasn’t the same girl he’d met on the top of that bridge. I wasn’t drowning anymore. To be honest, I was truly living, maybe for the first time ever.
Upon release of The Fall Up, I hadn’t been sure what to expect, seeing as no one had even known I’d been working on a new project. However, it shattered every single album I’d ever released, soaring to the top of the charts and selling millions the first week alone. Between the record sales and donations from other musicians wanting to help after hearing my story, we raised over one hundred and eight million dollars.
Being famous is a funny thing. For some reason, people think you’re the special one. But, in reality, I wouldn’t even be a blip on the radar without them. Yet, somehow, hundreds of people reached out to me to say that The Fall Up had changed their life.
And that changed mine.
I still visited children’s hospitals when time permitted, and it still felt incredible to bring a smile to those tiny faces, but suicide prevention quickly became my personal calling. Sam and I even filmed a series of PSAs that would be aired during the Super Bowl.
The world took to Sam much the same way I did—in utter awe.
He was a natural in front of the camera, and I swear to God he signed just as many autographs as I did when we went out in public. We were both amazed at the amount of offers he had rolling in. Calvin Klein actually offered him a hefty sum to be the new face of their rugged wear line. Sam declined every offer except for one: Popular Wood.
rePURPOSEd took off with all of the new exposure, and Sam opened storefronts in Miami, Seattle, and New York within two years. He also decided to take a step back and hire a CEO to run things.
His business was booming.
So was my career.
We were crazy in love.
It seemed like the perfect time to flip our lives upside down.
Three years after we were married, I went off birth control. Five months later, I was hanging my head in the toilet, cursing the pregnancy gods for having lied to me that morning sickness went away after the fifteenth week.
Several hours later, I found myself once again standing on the top of a bridge, wrapped in Sam’s arms, this time at the formal ceremony unveiling the brand-new Anne Rivers Suicide Prevention Barriers.
“My breath doesn’t stink,” I finally shot back at Sam before forcing him into another kiss.
“My nose disagrees,” he joked then pushed a piece of gum into his mouth.
Sam had never once picked up a cigarette again. But, judging by the fact that he’d just devoured his tenth piece of gum since we’d arrived on the bridge, his memories were testing him.
“So, have you given any more thought to Sander?” he asked, turning to face the podium, where the governor had stepped up to give his speech.
“Sanders? Maybe. Sander? No. That end ‘s’ makes all the difference.”
He groaned even though he was still skillfully smiling for the camera. “Sanders Rivers is a terrible name. Don’t set our son up for failure.”
“I’m not setting our son up for anything. We’re having a girl.”
“Fine, but we aren’t naming her Bridget.”
I gasped, slinging my head to face him. “We met on a bridge!”
“That doesn’t mean she has to suffer for it,” he replied out of the corner of his mouth. “Thank God we didn’t meet at Taco Bell.”
“Her name could be Bella.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. McDonalds.”
“Donna Rivers is a beautiful name!” I exclaimed, interrupting the governor and causing every eye on the bridge to swing in our direction.
Sam laughed and dropped the umbrella forward to shield us from the cameras. Looping his arm around my shoulders, he pulled me in for a hard kiss. “Okay. Okay. Bridget it is. But, for the record, we’re calling her Bree, not Bridge.”
“Deal,” I mumbled against his mouth as photographers worked their way behind us, furiously snapping pictures.