Bonus
Bells,
A year ago, we signed on for a lie. A scheme. A viral stunt with manufactured captions and staged smiles.
Now, here we are. Cameras, gone. Contract, ripped up.
I still think about that first panel sometimes. You glared at me like you wanted to set me on fire. Your voice shook with fury when you called me tolerable.
My entire chest burned because I knew I was done for.
Since then, we’ve fought. We’ve broken. We’ve lost things we thought we couldn’t survive losing. You vanished. I begged the universe for a miracle. Somehow, impossibly, it gave me one. Christmas has a way of weaving miracles where logic fails.
You, Ava Bell, are mine.
I never believed in destiny until you.
I never believed in family until now.
You and our daughter are asleep upstairs as I write this.
Her tiny fingers curled like commas, her breathing a steady rhythm that stitches my entire life together.
I watch her, and I realize that this is what it means to be whole.
Bestselling lists, packed auditoriums, or critical acclaim will never compare.
It’s you. It’s her. It’s us.
You’ve given me more than love, Bells. You’ve given me a home. A place to belong. A family I thought I’d never deserve. There were so many broken, scarred-up pieces of me I used to think were unfixable, and you’ve held them, softened them, made them into something new.
When I look at you, I see every chapter of our story: the sparks, the fight, dancing on snowy cliffs, stolen kisses, naughty time in wine cellars.
There’s the tough stuff, too, with so many moments when we could’ve let go, but didn’t. We chose each other. Over and over. Even when it was hard. Especially when it felt impossible.
So tonight, with an early blessing of snow falling outside our window, and our newest miracle sleeping peacefully, I take comfort in knowing that this is the only story I’ve ever wanted to write.
My love, my partner, my fire and starlight. This is our fairytale and our firestorm.
Thank you for believing. For choosing me. Thank you for letting me choose you.
Forever yours,
S