“Mmm,” Baylee murmurs, turning in my arms, “I thought you’d never get here.”
I flash her a grin before threading my fingers in her hair and kissing her deeply. “Believe me, I was counting the seconds.”
She sighs in happiness and together we watch as my dad plays with our daughter. Finally, after a few moments, my wife looks up at me with tears in her eyes and runs her fingertips over the scar on my chest. “War, the battles were worth it. The pain, the blood, the casualties, the paths our lives took. It was all worth it because it led to this. Whatever ‘this’ is”—she motions between me and our family—“I don’t ever want it to end.”
I plant a kiss on her forehead. Making the same gesture of my hand, I explain exactly what “this” is.
“This is love, baby.”
I press a kiss to War’s soft lips and smile at him. Today he’s beautiful in the bright sunshine. A few tiny freckles dot his nose and his navy-colored eyes twinkle with delight. His grin stretches across his entire handsome face lighting up all of his features. The wind tousles his brown hair in every which direction making him a sexy, disheveled mess. Just the way I like him. Simply perfect.
He’s right. This is love.
My heart nearly bursts with joy any time my husband bounces our adorable daughter on his knee or rubs my belly reverently. His smiles are frequent and they are a salve to parts of my heart that are still hissing from being burned. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what led me to War.
Fate had a plan.
The psycho bitch knew we were meant to be together.
What she didn’t tell me was it would cost everything I loved to be with him.
Mom. Dad. Brandon.
And even Gabe.
My therapist tells me it’s okay to miss them. Three men who supposedly loved me but ended up cutting my heart out, each one in their own way, still managed to make my heart ache from time to time. She tells me it’s normal. I find it far from normal. The ache for them feels like a betrayal to War. And that sense of betrayal breeds anger.
After all this time, I’m still angry.
Apparently that’s normal too.
She assures me eventually I can move past all the anger. That I should forgive them for what they did. Even Gabe. Especially Gabe. So I can move on, according to her. By letting go of the pain of my past, I can make room for all the good things my future has in store.
And most days, I am able to find the strength to agree with her. I search deep inside my splintered heart and I seek out the goodness each one had to offer. Before disease and money and stress drove them to carry out terrible atrocities on the one they loved most. Those days, I feel strong. I’m a warrior—a hero in my own story.
It’s the other days that are hard. The days where I feel like I’m the last one on the board protecting her king with the bloodiest damn sword around. Guilt drips from me like blood from all of the casualties in my war. Those days, it’s crushing. Those days, I don’t feel strong at all.
But the war is how I found my peace.
The war was worth it.
War was worth it.
When I feel our son rolling around in my belly or when Hannah falls asleep against my chest, I know. I know that every single second of this was all necessary in some fucked-up way. The battle was truly ugly but my peace is more beautiful than words could ever describe.
“Oooh,” Hannah babbles and points at the choppy ocean. She toddles closer toward the water’s edge and I trail behind her as War and Land dive into discussion about a new client behind us. My daughter is brave and doesn’t fear the crashing waves. Instead, she squeals and runs toward them. No hesitation. No reservations. No strategy.
She doesn’t worry about the evils of the world because she has two parents who do enough worrying about that for her entire lifetime.
My daughter is free.
War and I will be the parents who protect her.
She’ll never know the terrors we faced. Life, for her, will be perfect. We’ll make sure of that.
“Mamamama!” she tells me with a sweet giggle and splashes into the warm water. A wave rushes toward us causing her to lose her balance and she plops onto her butt in the sand. I smile and reach for her small hands to help her stand back up. Once she’s stable again, I clasp my fingers around her tiny wrist and let her guide me along the shore.
I’m lost in thought, a smile playing at my lips when the familiar sick dread washes over me. A shiver skitters down my spine and I jerk my head over my shoulder. My therapist assures me that because I never had closure with Gabe, I’ll always be paranoid to a certain extent. She tries to get me to relax and not worry about what I can’t control. He’s dead and I need to move on.