Epilogue #2
I frown as she lifts her leg to show me the bandaged scrape on the side of her knee, toppling slightly when she loses her balance. Smiling at my silly girl, I ruffle her hair.
“Remind me to check that out before you go to bed.”
“Okay! Mom, wait—watch my fastball!”
Ella sprints over to her glove, grabbing a softball. Crossing my arms, I watch as she takes a deep breath, winds up the ball, and sends it perfectly into the net. She turns to me, eyes excited with an expectant look on her face.
Just like always, I’m completely in awe of this little human—half-me, half-Teddy.
But all herself. She’s perfectly chaotic and wonderful, and every day, I understand my own parents less.
But I think of them less and less, too. Because I have my own family now.
A family I chose and made and love more than life itself.
“Olympics, here we come,” I say, clapping for her before gesturing toward the house. “Come on. I smell Daddy’s cooking. Is Little Bear helping?”
Ella snickers. “Little Bear is being grumpy.”
“Uh-oh,” I mutter, opening the front door and humming when the scent of garlic and pasta sauce hits me. Ella and I take off our shoes by the front door, and I place my bag on the hook. “Go wash up, champ.”
“Okay, Mommy,” she says, saluting me before racing up the stairs, feet pounding the entire way.
I watch her until she disappears, before I turn toward the front room—Teddy’s studio.
My husband graduated from art school when Ella was a toddler.
I still remember sitting in the bleachers with her on my lap, Stephanie and Danielle on either side of me as we cheered for him.
He looked up at us as I held our daughter on my hip, showing her how to clap for her daddy, and I felt so immensely proud of him that I could barely breathe through it.
Now, he’s a full-time dad, staying home with the kids while taking commissions online for custom drawings. He is the greatest father to our children and still the most wonderful husband.
We have bumps, but those bumps aren’t terminal. We still continue therapy every month, which I think is important with how demanding and stressful my career is.
Especially now that I am Chief of Medical Oncology at Bluewater.
I’m not only seeing patients anymore. I’m supervising other doctors, which means my hours sometimes stretch longer than planned.
But our children have their father there for them, picking them up from school, packing their lunches, cooking dinner, and helping with homework.
And I make sure to carve out time for them and attend every game, event, and parent-teacher conference that I can.
Families look different. Our children understand that. But they understand most of all that families love each other, and that their parents truly love and choose each other every day.
I glance into Teddy’s studio and see that he’s started a new painting, likely a commission for a client.
It looks like an ocean landscape with a lighthouse in the background, and I smile at the progress.
At how talented Teddy has become through consistency, confidence, and the steady belief that he was always allowed to want more than what his parents decided for him.
“Baby?”
I follow his voice into the kitchen, where Teddy is at the stove, giving our son a firm look.
Little Teddy is sitting at the island with a basket of unfolded kitchen towels on the chair beside him.
His arms are crossed, his lower lip pushed out, and I instantly know he’s deep in one of his stubborn moods.
My son and my husband—an unstoppable force, an immovable object.
I snort, and it catches the attention of both boys.
Immediately, their faces change and both of my Teddys beam.
“Mommy!”
I smile at my little boy and drop a kiss on his head.
“Hi, Little Bear,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. “Squish.”
“Squish,” he giggles, squeezing me back just as tight.
“There she is,” Teddy says, turning the burner down before coming over to me. “Hi, honey.”
My husband is forty-two and still as handsome as he was the day I saw him, just with a little more gray at his temples and in his beard.
“Hi, Teddy bear,” I smile, tilting my chin up for his kiss. “Missed you.”
“I missed you,” he murmurs before glancing back at our son. “Back to folding.”
“But, Dad,” Little Teddy whines, dragging out the word. “I want to watch TV!”
“And you can watch TV when you’re done folding towels,” Teddy says patiently. “It’s your chore this week.”
“Why can’t Ella do it?” he snaps, stubborn.
“Because Ella had folding last week. This week, she vacuumed, which she did when we got home. The longer you wait, the longer it takes before you get TV.”
Standing back, I watch with pride as Teddy expertly navigates our son away from a tantrum with calm logic. Then Little Teddy turns his adorable pout and shimmering eyes on me, expecting me to overrule his father.
That’s another thing we learned in therapy—always a united front.
“Little Bear, you know I’m going to give you the same answer as your father,” I say, raising my eyebrow. His pleading face turns grumpy again, this time directed at me.
“Do not give your mommy that look,” Teddy says, crouching in front of him. “Fair is fair, Teddy. Your sister did her chores, so you have to do yours. Just like Mommy does hers, and just like I do mine. If you didn’t do your job, then who would have to?”
Little Teddy’s expression softens.
“You or Ella or Mommy.”
“And is that fair?”
Reluctantly, he admits, “No.”
“And would that make you feel bad?”
He nods.
“So…”
With a dramatic sigh, he grabs one of the kitchen towels and starts folding it.
I lean down, press a kiss to his head, and murmur, “Thank you, Little Bear.”
He grins up at me, happy once again.
“Go take a shower, honey,” Teddy says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”
“Do you need any help?” I offer, but Teddy firmly shakes his head.
“You worked all day. Now you’re on vacation,” he gently pats my butt, making me laugh. “Go, honey.”
“Yes, Mr. Ambrose,” I snark.
His grin turns a little feral at that, making my stomach flip. Leaning in, I whisper in his ear, “Leave room for dessert.”
“Yes, honey,” he rumbles in my ear before pressing a long kiss on my cheek.
Smiling, I drop a kiss on our son’s head before heading upstairs.
My eyes drift to the photos lining the walls of our home, so different from the polished pictures that hung in Dawn’s house.
Birthday parties. Vacations. Pictures of me and my friends.
Teddy and his friends. Stephanie and Danielle holding the kids.
Softball games. Spelling bees. Ella covered in frosting on her first birthday.
Little Teddy asleep on his father’s chest. Me in my white coat on the day I was promoted to Chief last year, Teddy kissing my cheek while the kids make faces in the background.
Life.
Our wonderful, chaotic, messy, incredible life.
Twenty minutes later, I’m changed into one of Teddy’s t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, listening to our children bicker and tease each other as they set the table while their father tells them to keep the volume down.
We move like a well-oiled machine. I grab the glasses and fill each with everyone’s preferred drink—milk for Little Bear, blue Gatorade for Ella, lemonade and iced tea for Teddy and me—then bring them to the table.
Ella grabs the plates and silverware, and little Teddy carries the napkins and folds them neatly.
Then, as I do every night at dinner, I take a record from the shelf and place it on the record player.
When the music starts playing, I feel two arms wrap around my waist, Teddy’s deep voice rumbling in my ear as he sings along.
Waterloo.
Fitting.
He twirls me into his arms and starts bouncing us around the dining room, singing loudly because he knows it makes me laugh.
Of course, this isn’t rare, so our kids find it hilarious and run over to join us.
Ella knows every word because we’re convinced Ellie sings them to her while she sleeps.
Little Teddy makes up his own lyrics and belts them with complete confidence.
Teddy spins Ella under his arm, making her giggle.
Little Bear jumps onto my back, and I turn us in a circle until he shrieks with laughter.
And it feels like there are two more people here, watching and laughing along with us.
Always here with us.
Teddy wraps his arms around the three of us, pulling us tightly into him. He looks at me with those big green eyes, so full of love, and smiles like he’s thinking the same thing I am.
I feel so happy. With my husband and my children, in our home, in this life. Fairy tales look different for everyone.
This is mine.