Epilogue
Titus
Istare down at the tiny bundle cradled in my arms, looking over the perfect slope of her nose and the delicate pout of her lips.
She’s perfect. Everything I imagined and more.
Just like her brother.
“I can’t believe how cute they are.” Mariah leans to peek at our daughter before returning her gaze to the little boy she’s holding. “It’s so crazy to think just a few hours ago they were still in my belly.”
“It’s crazy to think how just a few hours ago we were curled up in bed thinking we had another week to finish the nursery.” I turn to look over the goddess next to me. “Are you still doing okay?”
I’ve asked her every fifteen minutes since she accidentally delivered both babies in triage. And I’ll probably continue to ask every fifteen minutes for the next three months.
Just to be sure.
“A little sore, but not as bad as I was expecting.” Her eyes drop to her chest. “My boobs are starting to feel strange though.”
“It’s inflammation from milk production.” I adjust the neckline of her robe, trying to loosen any pressure it’s putting on her chest. “From what I read, it should pass over the next few days.”
My research regarding Mariah’s pregnancy didn’t stop at finding her the best obstetrician and the twins the best pediatrician.
I’ve had so many fears around this process, and the only thing that seemed to alleviate them was knowledge.
Learning as much as I could about everything I could find, so I’d be prepared for every scenario.
Understand any changes in her body or the babies.
It gave me a sense of control in a situation that made me feel helpless and terrified.
Then she nearly delivered them in the car and humbled me real fast.
“Good to know.” Mariah shifts, wincing a little. “Any idea how long I have to wear these very sexy diapers?”
“That’s up to your body. Could be a few days. Could be a week.” I check the clock, mentally calculating how long it’s been since the pad absorbing the remaining contents of her uterus was changed. “It’s probably time to switch it out.”
I settle our daughter into her bassinet before taking our son from Mariah and situating him in his. After rolling both of them close to the bathroom, I help Mariah up, getting her maneuvered in front of the toilet before crouching down to lower the mesh panties the hospital provided.
I know this is part of the process most men probably shy away from, but I’m so fucking grateful to experience it. I know how lucky I am to have the opportunity to take care of her. To show my wife how fucking amazing I think she is.
How much I love her and our babies.
That I’ll always take care of them. In every way.
After helping Mariah lower to the seat, I toss the used liner in the trash and go to work filling the squirt bottle beside the sink with warm water. Once the squeeze top is in place, I test it on my wrist to make sure it’s not too hot, then resume crouching in front of her. “Ready?”
She holds her sleep shirt out of the way as I release a gentle stream against her swollen skin, washing and soothing her irritated vulva. Mariah lets out a sigh, her shoulders relaxing as I carefully work my way across the area.
“Whoever came up with this is a genius.” One hand comes to rest on my shoulder as her eyes slide closed. “Who would have thought a little warm water would make such a big difference?”
It’s one more thing I learned about during the countless hours I spent researching, hoping I might, in at least a small way, be able to help ease her suffering.
And my own.
I can’t stand seeing her in pain. Of any kind. So I do my best to make sure Mariah is as happy and comfortable as she can be. For her. For myself.
Once I replace the liner and help her dry off, I get Mariah back on her feet and lead her to the bed.
Picking up one of the on-demand ice packs the nurse brought in, I snap the inner lining and give it a shake.
After making sure it’s in the right spot, but not directly touching any of her delicate skin, I bring the babies back over.
“I think he’s hungry.” I brush a finger against our little boy’s cheek and he tries to latch onto it. “You ready for him?”
Mariah gives me a wobbly smile. “I guess so.”
Since the baby is safe where he’s at, I turn my full attention to the uncertain expression on the face of the woman who’s given me everything. Everything I was too afraid to want.
Everything I never thought I’d have.
“Hey.” I brush back the loose hair curving around her face. “Don’t worry. We’ll feed them one way or another. All that matters is that they eat, okay?”
She gives me a small nod. “I just don’t want to—”
I shake my head, stopping whatever failure she’s decided might be coming. “You are the best fucking mother these two could ever hope for, got it?” I lean in, resting my forehead against hers. “We are all so lucky to have you.”
I can’t imagine what my life would be like if Mariah hadn’t walked into it.
Actually, I can. I’d still be hiding in my rooms. Certain life was better safer. That if I had nothing to lose I would have nothing to mourn. What was left of me would stay intact.
I thought I was better off. As close to happy as I would ever be.
I was so fucking wrong.
“We are lucky to have you.” Mariah reaches up, curving one hand against my scarred cheek. “I’m sorry I screamed at you in the car.”
A smile curves my lips. “To be fair, I probably wasn’t helping with my breathing exercises.”
Mariah snorts. “Yeah. That ship had sailed.”
I was prepared for a long drawn-out labor that would likely end in a C-section. Even if a vaginal birth was possible, Mariah’s doctor prepared us for a delivery that would be complicated and could still result in the second baby having to be surgically delivered.
Instead, we ended up with amniotic fluid to clean out of my car, a couple traumatized bystanders, and a custodial call to the triage area.
But both babies are healthy, Mariah is happy, and I’m the proudest fucking man in the goddamned world.
I scoop up my son, bouncing him while Mariah gets situated before helping her get his wiggly little body into position. The changes in her breasts are already evident and she winces a little as he latches on.
“I didn’t think something so little would come with so much suction.” She brushes one finger over the swell of his cheek. “Are you starving, Peanut?”
I scoop our daughter from her bassinet and settle onto the bed next to Mariah, soaking up a moment I thought was lost to me forever.
“I was thinking about names.” Mariah’s soft voice is hesitant, but I’m not sure why.
“You didn’t want to stick with Peanut One and Peanut Two?” I pick up the giant cup of ice water the nurse brought in and hold it out for Mariah to take a drink. “Did you come up with anything you like?”
She swallows down a few mouthfuls—enough I’m satisfied—then nods. “Maybe.”
Setting the cup back onto the rolling table, I ask, “What are they?”
Mariah’s honey eyes move over the twins. “I was thinking maybe Mary Elizabeth and Mitchell Ethan.”
The whole world stops. Time. Space. My heart. My lungs. Everything stills, quieting around the wound I will carry close forever.
Mariah’s gaze tracks my face, studying the expression there. “If you don’t want to use those names I understand, I just—”
I lean in, sealing my lips over hers. Unable to put the way I’m feeling into words, I put it into the way I touch her. The way I kiss her. The way I hold her. Showing her how much it matters that she’s helping me remember the child I lost. Helping me honor them.
Keep them as close as they will ever be.
I don’t know if the baby was a boy or girl, and I never will. Finding out would have been another loss, because in my mind, both could have existed. Since I couldn’t bring myself to let either of them go, Mariah and I burned the envelope together, letting me keep them both.
“The names are perfect.” I cradle her face in my hand, unable to believe how fucking lucky I got when her friend backed out and Mariah took her place. “You are perfect.”
I tell her every day, but it’s never going to be enough. Yes, she has faults—everyone does—but that doesn’t mean she’s not perfect.
To me. For me.
“I love you so fucking much it hurts.” My eyes drop to our babies—Mary and Mitchell. “I love them so much it hurts.”
I knew love brought pain, but the pain I carried before was one of loss and suffering. The one squeezing my chest now is from simply not having enough space. Trying to fit an unlimited quantity within the confines of my skin.
And I imagine that love is only going to grow bigger as they do.
There’s a knock on the door, and our nurse pokes her head in. “Are you up to visitors?”
I turn to Mariah, because I’m not the one who just brought two humans into this world. “You feeling okay?” It’s probably been fifteen minutes since the last time I asked.
Ish.
“I’m good.” Mariah gives the nurse a smile. It’s bright and wide, but not superficial like the ones she brought with her when she moved. This one is real. The result of safety and acceptance. “They can come in.”
The nurse grins. “Brace yourself.”
She widens the door and people start pouring in. My mom and dad lead the pack, carrying Mariah’s overnight bag that we forgot in our rush to get here, and a soft sided cooler I’m sure is full of all sorts of delicious things my wife will love eating instead of hospital food.
Behind them is Walker, carrying two of the biggest stuffed animals I have seen in my life.
I angle a brow at him. “What in the hell are those for?”
“They’re for my niece and nephew, dick.” He sets them on the small sofa where I’ll be sleeping tonight. “They need friends to cuddle.”
I recognize these are the first babies my brothers have been around, but I would’ve thought Walker had enough life experience to know hours-old infants don’t cuddle stuffed animals. Obviously not, and he looks so fucking proud of himself, I’m not going to be the one to break the news to him.