Free

Nick

The house is finally quiet.

The rare, beautiful kind of quiet that only comes after three kids—one still in infancy—are bathed, pajamaed, and successfully wrangled into beds. Joshua, our oldest, is more than likely reading with a flashlight, congratulating himself on his sneakiness, while his younger brother Henry sleeps like a log in the room they share. Through the hum of the baby monitor on the counter, I hear Olive’s sweet sigh, a sound she often makes right before falling asleep.

I sit at the kitchen table, a box of letters, a pen, and a thick sheet of stationary in front of me, Sunshine sleeping peacefully at my feet. The day Joshua was born, Charlie and I wrote him a letter and have continued the tradition through the years, saving them in a box like the ones I wrote to my beautiful wife when I thought all was lost between us. Each child has a personalized letter from the day they’re born. The rest are addressed to them all. A snapshot of our lives together. Of our love for each other and for them. A box of memories to unpack when they’re older and the timing feels right.

Charlie breezes into the room, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing that oversized Marine T-shirt of mine she’s claimed as her own.

I stand and pull her into my arms, marveling at the woman of my dreams, the mother of my children, as I press a kiss into her hair. “That shirt just looks better and better on you, you know that?”

Charlie huffs a laugh, her autumn eyes sparkling with love and humor as they meet mine. “I know you’re the King of Cheese.”

“No cheese tonight, Wildrose.” I cup her cheeks and press my forehead to hers. “Just truth.”

“Okay, Cheddar. Whatever makes you feel better.”

While I laugh quietly, Charlie pulls out of my arms and reaches into the cupboard for a mug to make her nightly herbal tea, a ritual her mom tried to instill in her for years and finally succeeded with Garrett’s help. They’ve tried to convert me, to no avail… yet. It smells and tastes mildly of flowery dirt. I’m not sure the benefits—if they exist—are worth it. After her tea brews, she pulls out a chair across from me and sits, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. “Who’s writing tonight?” she asks.

“You good if I write it? I have something in mind I’d like to say.”

“By all means,” Charlies says with a flourish and a smile.

I take a breath, let my shoulders relax, and press the pen to the page.

To Joshua, Henry, and Olive—

Today was wild. Each of you seemed determined to challenge me for the title of Most Stubborn Hutton and to teach your mom what it was like for her parents when she was young and filled with terrier puppy energy. There were spills. And tears. And you boys fought on and off all day while poor Olive cried and fussed and refused to take a nap.

Mom and I are tired tonight.

I tried to handle it with grace, to show you the patience and love you deserve, but I failed. I definitely lost my cool and added to the problem rather than solved it.

I don’t know how old you’ll be when you read this. Maybe you’re still in school, or maybe you’ve already started your lives, with families of your own. Hopefully, there have been enough good days in between the bad ones to ease the stress we all felt today.

Your mom’s sitting across from me now, looking ever so beautiful. She tempered me today. She stayed gentle while I was struggling to keep my cool. Sometimes it’s flipped and she swears she’s going rose-petal-pink crazy and I’m the only thing that keeps her sane. Since she’s going to read this after I’m done, I’ll say your mother is calm and wonderful and deserves sainthood for putting up with me. (But if you want the truth, you know where to find me.)

All joking aside, boys, I hope you find someone as wonderful as she is and Olive? Please set your sights a little higher than finding someone like me, but I hope you all find a partnership as strong as your mom and I have found. We’re strong on our own, but stronger together and I want all of you to experience the love and respect your mom and I have.

The house is quiet tonight. You’re all upstairs, sleeping. (Though I’m pretty sure you’re up there reading, Joshua. Just in case you spent all this time thinking you were clever enough to get away with it.)

It’s hard to put into words how much you’ve changed my life. Before you, I didn’t know how much room there was in a person’s heart. I thought I knew love when I met your mom—and believe me, I did—but then you came along, Joshua. And then you, Henry. And now you, Olive. With each of you, my heart stretched a little more, made room for a new kind of love. A kind that made me want to be better, try harder, and show you what it means to be a good man.

Meeting your mom was the beginning of that lesson for me. Loving her taught me about hope and second chances, about trusting someone with the parts of myself I wasn’t sure anyone could accept. And then, when each of you came into this world, I learned that love doesn’t have a limit. It just keeps growing, getting bigger and stronger with every new addition to our family.

You’ve taught me so much—about patience, about joy, about how to look at life through eyes that find wonder in the smallest things. And as much as I hope I’ve taught you, or will teach you in the years to come, know that you’ve taught me more.

There was a time when I didn’t think happiness like this was possible for me. I carried a lot of hurt and a lot of fear that made me believe I didn’t deserve it. But your mom—your incredible, warmhearted mom—saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself. She brought light into my life when all I could see was darkness.

And you three? You’re that light multiplied.

You’ve filled every corner of my life with laughter and love. You’ve challenged me to be better, to try harder, to live up to the kind of dad you deserve. And I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter how far apart we might be, you’ll always have me and your mom. We’re your biggest fans. Your soft place to land. Your family.

Life isn’t always going to be easy. It’s messy and complicated, and sometimes it feels like it’s too much. But don’t let that stop you. Chase the things that set your hearts on fire. Be kind to yourselves, to each other, and to the world around you. And don’t ever forget that you are loved more than words could ever say.

Your mom once told me that it isn’t what you do that makes you matter. I fought the idea, because what we do is part of who we are. I couldn’t wrap my head around being worthy of love by simply existing, but the years I’ve spent with her have helped me grasp her meaning. I couldn’t care less if she was a yoga instructor or the CEO of some mega corporation. I’d love her all the same. But it was you three who finally taught me the soul-deep truth of what she meant all those years ago. I love you when you’re all perfectly behaved angels., and I love you just as much on the days I wonder how I’ll survive being a parent to three tiny terrors.

In case days like today make you question your worth let me be clear:

I ask you to aim higher because I see how much you’re capable of and it’s so much more than you think but that doesn’t change one simple truth…

You matter more to me than you can ever know.

We’re so proud of you… Of who you are and who you’re going to be.

Love always,

Dad (and Mom, who’s already reaching for this paper because patience has never been one of her virtues)

When I set the pen down, my throat feels tight. I swallow past a lump in my throat as I watch Charlie read, her smile trembling a little at the edges, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. By the time she finishes, her eyes glisten, and she sets the letter down carefully, like it’s something fragile and precious.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

I reach across the table, taking her hand. Her fingers curl around mine, warm and steady. “None of this would’ve been possible without you,” I tell her. “You’re the reason this family exists. You gave me a second chance, when I didn’t deserve it. You gave me everything I ever wanted, even after I tried to push it away.”

Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but then she smiles, tilting her head. “You gave me the same thing, Nick. This family… our life… it’s the best thing I could’ve dreamed of.”

I pull her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles, letting myself soak in the moment. The quiet. The love. The sense of belonging that still feels like a gift every single day.

We sit like that for a while, the letter between us, until the faint creak of a floorboard upstairs breaks the stillness. Charlie’s head tilts, her brow quirking in that way that says she knows exactly what’s coming.

“Joshua,” we say at the same time.

I groan, pushing back my chair. “I’ll get him. You finish your tea.”

“Nick,” she says as I rise, and when I glance back, she’s looking at me with that same look she had on our wedding day. A look that still makes my heart stutter. “I love you. You know that, right?”

I smile, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips, soft and lingering. “I do. And I love you, Charlie. More than you’ll ever know.”

As I head upstairs, I hear her fold the letter into the envelope and tuck it away. It’ll sit there, waiting for the day our kids need it. Until then, I’m going to keep living every day in gratitude for this life we’ve built—messy, chaotic, and full of more love than I ever thought possible.