Epilogue
Alistair
Two Years Later
The giggling behind me made me smile as I flipped the French toast.
I didn’t know if it was because Callie ate so much of it during the pregnancy or if it had somehow embedded itself in their DNA—but Mia and Gia were hooked.
I plated the bananas and blueberries, glancing back toward the family room.
They were sprawled across the rug, giggling, tangling in each other’s limbs. Chaos and joy, but it was just the way I liked it.
We’d rented out our house and moved to the coast. I wanted peace for them—my girls.
The beach was a ten-minute walk. The community was small and safe. The kind of place where you didn’t need to lock your door.
Mia and Gia thrived in the salt air and sun. Always active, smiling and outdoors.
And Callie?
The love of my life was the centre of my world.
We were flying out to spend a few months with my parents. It was the girls’ birthday, and everyone was excited—especially because my sister was joining us for a few weeks.
Dottie sauntered over and sat beside his bowl like I hadn’t just fed his entitled ass.
I checked on the toast, took them out of the pan, and spooned yoghurt onto the plates.
My plan was in place: birthday, babysitters, getting my wife drunk, and breeding her again.
The circle of life.
The sole purpose of my existence.
There were four more bedrooms to fill.
I sliced the French toast and added them to the plates, eyeing the wooden trays Callie had ordered. They were perfect—just the right size, with three separate sections.
We’d need a few more.
Callie looked up from the colouring mat where they were working, but her eyes didn’t make it to my face.
No. They lingered on my dick.
“Didn’t I just feed you, baby?” I asked, placing the plates on the table.
“That doesn’t count as sustenance,” she muttered, hauling the girls up with her.
Her voice was breathy—already distracted.
“Yet you licked up every last drop,” I said, plucking Gia from her arms and setting her in the booster seat.
I shouldn’t have named her after my mother.
She was the mischievous one.
The ring leader of chaos.
Gia glanced up at me as I snapped the safety harness on.
“Tank you, Daddy,” she said, petting my head like I was the family dog.
“You’re welcome, precious,” I murmured, kissing her soft cheek before turning to do the same with Mia.
What I did with one, I always did with the other.
The thought of either of my daughters’ little hearts hurting turned me inside out.
Callie was the same—though sharper, more alert to emotional shifts. Her upbringing had carved it into her.
But we balanced each other. Brought different strengths to the table.
We communicated—always. Openly. Even when it was hard.
She’d told me how her parents’ constant arguing had shaped her.
And I listened.
It’s why I paid attention to my tone around the girls. Even when I was angry. Especially then.
Because they were always watching. Always learning what love looked like.
“Hm. Where’s my breakfast?” Callie asked, rubbing her stomach.
“Coming right up,” I said, smacking her ass as I walked past. “You earned it after this morning.”
She didn’t say a word—because the twins were right there. But her head snapped around so fast I half-expected a fork to fly at me.
I kept walking.
Learned that one from my nieces. Kids hear everything when they’re not supposed to. So now Callie had no choice but to stew in silence, shooting me subtle death glares while pouring more juice.
I plated her food like the loving husband I was, even sprinkling a few extra pumpkin seeds on top—fertility gold, apparently.
Not that she knew. For the last month, I’d been quietly turning her meals into a breeding buffet.
A kale smoothie here, a walnut garnish there.
More salmon than beef. She thought I was just getting into “health.”
No, baby.
I was getting into your womb—again.
She didn’t know it yet, but we were already laying the groundwork for round two.
Her eyes met mine. They promised vengeance.
My grin widened.
She couldn’t touch me now, not in front of the girls. But later? When nap time hit and the house went quiet? Oh, she’d come for me with all the vengeance of a brat denied her right to sass.
And I’d be waiting.
It was the best kind of war with my brat.
The End.