Epilogue 03 #2
His family flew to New York in force for the twins’ birth, and some of them—Nonna, Anna, and her children—stayed on for the first few months to help us find our footing. I don’t think I’ll ever fully manage to thank them for all their generosity.
For the last three years, we divided our lives between Pisa and New York. But now we’re in Pisa for good. Age has begun to weigh on Nonna, and we wanted to be close to her.
Full disclosure, I’ve wanted this move for a long time. New York is for visits now, occasional trips to see Ethan, Mark, and his family.
The thought of Mark makes me try to sit up faster than my enormous belly allows.
“What is it?” Alexander asks, startled. “Are you okay? Contractions? Do you need something?”
I laugh. I’d love to say this reaction has something to do with the fact that I’m forty-two now and this pregnancy requires a bit more care. But the truth is, he was exactly the same when I got pregnant at thirty-nine.
He doesn’t let me do anything. He hovers, constantly attentive, perpetually on standby. It’s endearing. I love him for it. And sometimes, it makes me want to smother him with a pillow.
“Your son is fine. I’m fine,” I tell him, leaning back onto the headboard as I reach for my phone. “I just remembered I need to call Mark and check how his little girl is handling teething.”
Alexander kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose, then my lips, before getting up to check on the twins, making sure they’re sleeping soundly.
As he sits on the edge of the bed, my fingers follow the star map inked across his back.
A careful blend of geometry and pointillism, fine lines connecting constellations that orbit a sun and a moon fused together, both rendered with impressive realism.
He carries an entire universe on his skin, something intricate and beautiful.
Alexander sketched it himself. Ethan refined the details. And just months ago, he added a new star. Unique constellations, each one marking the center of his world. Me and our five children.
I smile and lean forward to press a soft kiss to his back before he pulls away. I watch him leave the room, the smile staying with me even after he’s gone.
My gaze drops to my wrist, to the small moon that represents me—because that’s what Alexander sometimes calls me—and to the sun beside it, for all the light he’s brought into my life. Next to them, four stars. One for each child.
When it’s safe, I’ll add one more, I think, resting my hand over my belly.
Then Alexander’s voice drifts through the baby monitor, hushed and tender, and my smile deepens. I could never have asked for a better husband, partner, or father to my children.
Not even in my wildest dreams.
September
Alexander
“Papà.”
Alicia calls out, and I turn from the coffee machine to find her perched at the kitchen island, smiling at me. No matter how much time passes, hearing her call me that never gets old.
It started as a joke, her teasing her younger siblings when they first began babbling papà. Somewhere along the way, she stopped calling me Alex altogether, and I simply became Papà.
I’ll never forget the day she asked if I minded. She said she could go back to calling me Alex, if I preferred.
“Please don’t,” I told her then, my voice thicker than I expected. “Unless you want to. The first time you called me Papà, even if it was just to tease Alessio and Stella, my heart nearly burst. In my mind, and in my heart, you’re already my daughter.”
She hugged me after that. And when I glanced toward the kitchen door, I found Cecilia watching us, smiling in that gentle way that will always undo me.
“Sì, piccola?” I answer now, pulling myself back to the present.
“Why is driving only allowed at eighteen here?” she complains, propping her cheek in her palm. “I couldn’t wait to turn seventeen so I could drive, and now I have to wait another whole year.”
“I don’t make the laws,” I say, walking over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “But after your brother is born, we’ll look into guida accompagnata[LXXXIV]. That way, whenever you’re with one of us, you can drive and practice.”
She sighs, then smiles.
“Grazie, Papà,” [LXXXV]she says, resting her head on my shoulder.
“Di niente, piccola,” [LXXXVI]I murmur, kissing the top of her head.
Alicia is staying with us in Pisa for her senior year of high school, and then she plans to return to New York for college.
Her father agreed to the move. She spent the entire summer with him and flew here two weeks ago to prepare for school. Colin will visit every month. She’ll spend Christmas with us, and New Year’s—and the rest of her breaks—with him in New York.
I doubt we’ll ever be friends. But I’ve learned to respect the man he has chosen to become, and the father he is to Ethan and Alicia.
“Papà! Papà!”
My son’s small squeal cuts through the house, followed by the hurried slap of bare feet in the hallway. Alicia and I laugh without thinking.
The sound dies the second he bursts into the kitchen. I meet his gaze—my mother’s eyes looking back at me—and see them filled with tears.
“Mommy has a boo-boo,” he says, breathlessly. “Told me to call you.”
I’m already moving. I pull away from Alicia, heading for the hall, then stop as it occurs to me.
“Your brother... the jet will land in less than two hours.”
Before I can finish, Alicia is crouching in front of Alessio, her voice calm, as she picks him up. “Go, Papà. I’ll call Uncle Giorgio. We’ll pick Ethan up at the airport and meet you at the hospital.”
I don’t argue. I nod once, grateful, and run for the reading room.
Cecilia sits on the edge of the loveseat, pain etched across her face. Stella stands close, whispering something only her mother can hear, her small hand moving in soothing circles over Cecilia’s belly.
“Did it start long ago?” I ask, dropping in front of her, both hands covering her belly, feeling the tension harden beneath my palms.
“About twenty minutes,” she says, controlled but strained. “We should go. The doctor said...”
I nod, kiss her forehead, and sprint to the nursery, grabbing the bags—hers and the baby’s—packed and waiting for weeks. When I return, she’s already standing, Stella holding her hand with resolve.
“Ready, mamà?” I ask.
She smiles at me, and then the smile turns into a grimace as another contraction takes hold.
“I am,” she says. “Did you see the day your son chose to be born?” She laughs, but the sound breaks into pain.
He wasn’t supposed to come for another four days. But our boy has chosen today.
I slide an arm around her, holding her close as we go to welcome the new love of our lives.
I stroke her hand, press a kiss to her damp forehead, murmuring quiet reassurances. “Andrà tutto bene, amore mio...”[LXXXVII]
The tension in the operating room is thick, verging on suffocating—until a loud, indignant cry shatters the room.
My head snaps up.
Through the clear sterile drape, I see him. Red, wet, squirming, alive and safe in the doctor’s gloved hands. The relief is so overwhelming my knees nearly give out.
“Go,” Cecilia whispers, tears of exhaustion and emotion slipping down her temples into her hair. “Go to him.”
A nurse places the surgical scissors in my hand. Just like last time, I have to force myself to calm down, to control my fingers despite the surge of adrenaline, before making the cut that physically separates him from his mother.
I follow the nurse to the radiant warmer in the corner of the room. I watch, transfixed, as she rubs him briskly with heated towels, coaxing his breath into an even rhythm. He responds with fierce protest. Strong lungs announcing his arrival to the world.
I keep glancing back at the surgical curtain, where the team works to close Cecilia, needing to see movement, to know she’s there. That she’s okay.
Like the twins, our son is born via C-section. He’s a big boy—a true little giant, just as Cecilia liked to tease—and he stubbornly refused to turn from his breech position. The doctor made the call early: a natural birth wasn’t safe.
The nurse wraps him tightly in a blanket and finally places him in my arms.
He blinks under the harsh lights, squinting, and for one suspended second his eyes meet mine.
The same shade of amber, bright, piercing.
My chest tightens painfully. “Benvenuto al mondo, figlio mio,” [LXXXVIII]I whisper.
I turn slightly, shielding him instinctively.
“Now let’s go meet your mamà and find out who you are. ”
We chose the twins’ names together, debating them for months. But for our last child, Cecilia asked for that privilege alone. I never hesitated. I trust her heart more than my own.
I return to the operating table. Cecilia can’t move much—strapped down, numb from the chest down—so I carefully lower him onto her upper chest, close to her face.
She exhales shakily and frees one hand, her fingers trembling as they trace his cheek, his jaw, his tiny nose. She checks him with that instinctive maternal love. Fresh tears fall down her face.
“Welcome to the world... Matteo Alexander.”
She says the second name while lifting her eyes to mine.
My heart stops. For a moment, even the constant beeping of the monitors fades away.
“Matteo Alexander,” I mouth without a sound.
“You’re going to be a good boy,” she says, her voice finding strength as she holds my gaze. “And one day, a great man. Like your grandfather. Like your father. I bless you with their name.”
Then she looks back down at him, her expression melting into the purest form of love. “You’ll be loved, protected, and cherished by so many good people.”
Overcome, I lean down and wrap my arm around both of them as best I can, resting my forehead touching hers.
“Grazie,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
And in that single word, I pour everything I am... gratitude for her strength, her love, and for the extraordinary family she has given me.
Two soft knocks sound at the door. I tell them to come in.
Stella and Alessio burst into the room at a run. I intercept them just in time, catching them before they can launch themselves onto the bed, and guide them carefully to Cecilia’s side.
“Hey—piano, piano,” [LXXXIX]I whisper, kissing the tops of their heads. “Gentle with Mommy and the baby.”
They start talking over each other, animated, chattering in a language entirely their own—one where less than half the words are intelligible to the rest of the world. Cecilia laughs, answering each tangled sentence as if she understands every single one.
Then I see Nonna enter, leaning on Ethan’s arm, with Alicia steadying her on the other side. There isn’t a single time I see them like this—my oldest children caring for her with such tenderness—that my heart doesn’t skip a beat.
“I’ve come to meet my newest great-grandson,” Nonna says in her lilting voice, her eyes already shining with anticipation.
She approaches the bed, and with careful movements, Cecilia transfers Matteo into her arms. Ethan helps Nonna sit in the armchair beside the bed. She adjusts the bundle close to her chest, then lets out a delighted laugh.
“Ma va!” she says. “You are the carbon copy of your father when he was born.” She looks down at him fondly. “What is your name, mio piccolo[XC]?”
My throat tightens.
“Matteo Alexander,” I answer, my voice hoarse.
Nonna smiles, her eyes misting as she keeps her gaze on my son. “Your Nonno was a wonderful man,” she whispers. “And your father is a great one. You will be even better, just like your two other brothers.”
She looks up at Ethan, smiling with pride, and passes the baby to him, since he’s closest. Alicia leans over Ethan’s shoulder, her eyes wide, utterly captivated.
“He’s so beautiful...” Alicia whispers.
I move to the bed and sit on the edge, wrapping an arm around Cecilia. Alessio takes that as an invitation and climbs straight into my lap, while Stella curls up on her mother’s other side.
My gaze drifts to Ethan. He hasn’t stopped staring at his little brother in his arms, a goofy smile fixed on his face. When he finally looks up at me, it’s with amused resignation. “He couldn’t wait two more days and be born on my birthday, could he?”
Cecilia and I exchange a look. Her smile is exhausted, but full of meaning.
“He chose the day his parents met to be born,” she says.
I smile, run my hand through Cecilia’s hair, and adjust Alessio in my lap, taking in the sight of Ethan holding his brother with so much love, Alicia by his side, her eyes brimming with emotion.
I look at all of them—Nonna, our children, and the life we built.
.. shaped by choices, mistakes, and an immeasurable love.
I kiss Cecilia’s temple and close my eyes, feeling this moment deep in my soul.
“It’s a full circle,” I murmur, my voice breaking. “It started with the two of us that day... and now look at us. We are an entire universe.”
“Ti amo,” Cecilia whispers.
I rest my forehead on hers, breathing her in.
“Ti amerò per tutta la mia vita, tesoro.”[XCI]
THE END