Epilogue
Four Years Later
Lachlan
“Now, now,” I say, holding back her chubby little fist when she reaches for the colored glass. “Don’t be touching it yet. It’s drying, see?”
“Pwetty cuwers,” she answers in her adorable wee voice.
“Aye, it’s very pretty, love,” I agree, bending to grab her by the waist so I can hoist her against my side. “But also very, very auld.”
“Owed,” she parrots, looking serious. “No touch.”
I beam at her, reaching to tap my finger against the tip of her pert nose, which is covered in freckles. I ruffle my hand over her wild red curls, the giggle she lets out the sweetest sound in the world. Sometimes I can’t help but stare at her, this little life with her mother’s curls and my blue eyes and a fiery spirit that might be from the devil himself—so full of gratitude to have her after so many years of thinking it wasn’t in the cards for me.
“Dada?”
I shake my head, clearing away my drifting thoughts as I give her a grin. “Sorry, princess,” I tell her. “You’re just so bonnie, I can’t help but look at you for a spell sometimes.”
She giggles again, letting her face fall against my shoulder as her little arms wind around my neck. I close my eyes to breathe in the soft scent of her shampoo, feeling the fluttering of her heart against mine and wondering how I got so lucky.
“There you are,” the exasperated voice of my wife calls. “What are you doing? People will be showing up soon.”
“I was showing this wee tottie her new room,” I answer, pointing to the window that just went in yesterday. “I think she’s given it the seal of approval.”
“She’d better, since it practically took an act of God to get it out in one piece.” Key laughs, leaning in to nuzzle her nose against our daughter’s. “It will be nice for her to look at in her new big-girl bed.”
“Your mother is a stubborn thing,” I tell my wee one. “That’s where you get it from.”
“Mummy,” she calls, reaching out her chubby little arms.
“Come here, gorgeous,” Key coos, taking her from me. “Are you ready for cake?”
She claps her hands, her face lighting up. “Cake!”
“Well, she knows that word perfectly,” I chuckle.
“Because she’s a genius,” Key says sweetly. “She gets it from me.”
“Oh, does she now?”
“Obviously.” She presses a kiss to one round cheek. “Someone is two years old today,” she says. “Do you know who?”
Another peal of laughter, followed by a repeated round of clapping. “Sorcha!”
I watch Key’s eyes soften, watch as she meets mine with a grin full of emotion as she no doubt marvels over the same things I find myself marveling over. That we have this, even against all odds. That we’re here .
“That’s right,” Key says quietly. “Sweet Sorcha.”
“Oi! Anyone home?”
“That’ll be your grandpa,” I tell Sorcha at the sound of Finlay’s entry.
Sorcha immediately starts wiggling to be put down, toddling away on her tiny feet to meet Finlay in the doorway. “Granpa!”
“Och, would you look at that,” Finn practically chokes, crouching to sweep the little girl into his arms. “Have you gotten bigger, lass? You’re practically grown!”
“I two , Granpa,” Sorcha says in an almost scolding tone.
“Not too auld to be tickled , then, aye?”
His fingers dig into the adorable little rolls of her side, and Sorcha starts to wiggle and squeal in his hold, her screams of laughter echoing in the empty room as she turns this way and that to escape Finlay’s grasp. I open my mouth to warn him, but then Sorcha positively shrieks with her giggling, and with a soft pop —we’re standing in a much darker room.
Finlay goes still, holding Sorcha out with a surprised expression. “Well, that’s new.”
“Yeah,” Key says with an amused expression. “At least she didn’t bust it. You should see what happens when she cries .”
Finlay’s eyes swim, his voice thicker when he says, “Och, she’ll be grown before we know it.”
Rhona appears then, squeezing in next to her husband, frowning. “Don’t be rushing her life away, Finlay. Let the lass be a wean for a while yet.” Her usually stoic face crumples into an expression of utter delight when Sorcha reaches for her, plucking her from her husband and pressing a rain of kisses to her full cheeks as the little girl squeals. “My sweet girl,” Rhona says sweetly. “Look at how special you are! I’ve missed you.”
“You saw her yesterday,” I point out.
Rhona clucks her tongue, not even bothering to look at me. “ Haud yer wheesht. ”
Key flicks her eyes up to the light fixture, staring at it for a moment before it blinks back to life.
“Adain!” Sorcha begs delightedly. “Mummy, adain!”
Key grins impishly as she winks at Sorcha, the light flickering back out just to come right back on when she sticks out her tongue.
“All right, all right,” Rhona huffs. “Enough showing off. Some of us have to lift our auld bones out of chairs when we want to turn the lights on and off.”
“It’s truly a struggle,” I sigh, earning myself a pinch in the side from my wife.
“Hello! Is someone going to help me bring in this bloody thing? It’s fucking huge!”
Key rolls her eyes, already bounding off to no doubt scold Rory for not heeding her “no cursing around Sorcha” rule.
“The house is coming along,” Finlay notes. “Almost done, then?”
“Aye,” I tell him. “My da and I just finished the window for Sorcha’s room yesterday.”
Finlay chuckles. “I’d say you’ll be happy to get this wee thing out of your bed, but something tells me you’ll miss her.”
“We might need to ease her into sleeping in her own bed,” I answer. “So she isn’t overwhelmed.”
“Oh, aye,” Rhona laughs. “Purely for her sake.”
Finlay looks up from tickling Sorcha in the side. “How is your da?”
“He’s all right,” I tell him. “He and Mum should be here soon.”
“S’bout time he convinced her to move back,” Rhona tuts. She eyes me curiously. “And how are you two getting on?”
“We’re…good,” I settle on, surprised to find that I mean it.
It’s taken a long time for me and my mother to find our way back to a relationship, but the return of my da has really paved the way of things. It’s been a hard road for her, I’ll admit; she lost a part of herself when he went into the loch so long ago, and I believe she might just now be finding it. We might never be what we were, but I have too much good in my life to complain about things that I don’t have.
Rhona nods. “Good. Wouldn’t want to have to knock some sense into the auld gal.”
“Probably for the best,” I laugh.
Two identical blond heads peek around the doorway, both shoving at each other to try to fight for space. “Are we having the party in this empty room? We’ve got cake and stuffs waiting.”
“And B-E-E-R,” Rory whispers, glancing at Sorcha.
Key appears then, smacking him on the back of the head. “You did not bring alcohol to my daughter’s second birthday.”
“It’s a special occasion!” he argues.
Key just glares at him, and Blair shoos him away, flashing Key an apologetic grin. “We’ll just save the, ah, refreshments for after the wean goes to bed, aye?”
“I’d better go see to it that they don’t break something,” Rhona sighs as she passes Sorcha back to Key. “Finlay, go and fetch the presents from the car.”
I cock a brow. “Presents?”
“I’ll not hear a word on how many,” Rhona calls back, her voice disappearing back through the house.
Finlay leans in, lowering his voice. “She’ll be trying to blame the number on me, but believe you me—it was all your granny.”
“Finlay!”
He presses his fingers to his lips in a shh gesture, following Rhona back toward their car, leaving me alone with Key and Sorcha.
Key’s eyes sweep around the space, smiling. “It finally looks all done.”
“Aye, it does,” I answer. “I’ll be adding her furniture tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to move her to her own bed.”
“Aye, love, I know,” I sigh, stepping closer to press a kiss to her forehead. “But that’s the way of weans, I fear. They always grow up when we aren’t looking.” I duck my head to give Sorcha a similar peck at her forehead, lingering for a moment more to once again breathe in the sweet scent of her. “But you’ll always be our wee princess, aye?”
“Can’t believe I let that happen,” Key mutters.
A laugh tumbles out of me. “Now, darlin’. Don’t be jealous. You’re still the princess of my heart.”
“Mummy pwincess,” Sorcha announces. “I pwincess too.”
“Aye,” I tell her. “That’s right.”
“Tan I haff cake now?”
“Well, it’s not quite time…” Key starts, trailing off when we hear footsteps clodding inside behind us.
“Lachlan,” my father says with a slap on my shoulder. “Oh, och, that looks michty fine. Doesn’t it, love?”
My mother’s small frame appears beside him in the doorway; her features are still somewhat alien to me after having gone so long without seeing them. Her pale blonde hair is pulled up into a bun, her clear blue eyes that are just like mine sweeping over the room.
“Oh, aye, it looks wonderful, son.” She turns to me, a wariness to her eyes that hasn’t quite dissipated even in the years since we first started reconciling. Like she’s afraid I might reject her at any moment. “Was it terribly hard to remove from the auld castle?”
“A right pain in the arse,” my da snorts.
Key elbows him. “Language.”
“Oh, sorry, lass,” he says sheepishly. He notices Sorcha in her arms, his face lighting up. “And there’s the wee tottie of the hour! Come here, hen.”
My da takes a wiggling Sorcha, nuzzling her nose with his. It still makes my chest tight, seeing them together—it’s something I thought I would never have.
“And here’s Granny Greer too,” Da says, turning toward my mother. My mother’s usually tense features soften considerably at the sight of Sorcha, a magic our daughter has all her own. It’s impossible not to be enamored with her.
“Hello, love,” my mother says. “Happy birthday.”
“I two!”
My mother’s face splits into a grin. “Aye, that’s right. You sure are.”
“Right then,” my da pipes up. “Why don’t we go see if we can find you a sweet, aye?”
“Don’t let her fill up on junk before cake,” Key scolds.
I chuckle. “Technically, cake is also junk, love.”
“No one asked you,” she tuts.
My father scuttles off with my daughter, leaving the three of us behind. My mother looks around the room once more with emotion in her eyes, and I can see it, I think, how much healing she still has to do. I know that years of grief can’t be undone so easily. Still, it warms me to see her trying so hard.
She places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “This looks amazing, son.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, reaching to squeeze her hand back.
She pulls her hand away, only to press one palm against Key’s cheek and the other against mine, smiling softly. “I’m so proud of the both of you. Thank you for letting us be a part of Sorcha’s special day.”
“We’re happy you’re here,” Key tells her, and I feel my love for this woman grow impossibly.
My mother gives a slow nod, grinning at us once more before saying something about finding my father, leaving Key and me alone in Sorcha’s room.
“I’d better go and change her clothes,” Key says with a frown. “I have something that we can just toss after she inevitably gets filthy.” She turns her eyes to me. “Can you get the ice cream out so it can thaw a little?”
“Aye, I will,” I answer. “Be there in a bit.”
She closes the distance between us, lifting her mouth to mine, and even after so much time with her—the press of her lips feels no less life-changing than it did the first time. Her kisses mean as much and yet more than they did when we first shared them; now they are for skinned knees and bedtime and stolen moments on the couch and every blissfully normal thing in between that I wouldn’t have if not for her.
And I haven’t, for one moment, ever stopped being in awe of her.
“See you in a minute,” she says against my mouth.
My lips curve against hers. “Aye, you will.”
I watch Key leave the room in search of our daughter, that same sensation of feeling like my entire heart goes with them whenever they stray too far clenching my chest tight. I take another turn about Sorcha’s finished room, thinking of the memories she’ll make here, that we’ll make here—our new home resting on Greer land that sat long abandoned. The window was the final piece; I wasn’t sure about the painstaking process of moving it when Key first mentioned it, but with the help of her magic and a lot of careful work, it’s here now, watching over my daughter in the same way it watched over me as a child. I hope that, as she grows, it will remind her where she comes from, and when she’s old enough to hear the entire story of how she came to be—it will be a reminder that where she goes is entirely in her hands.
You are not who you are because of where you come from; you are who you are because of where you choose to go.
Key’s words still stay rooted deep in my heart, just as much a comfort today as they were the first time she uttered them to me when I needed them most.
Maybe it’s the occasion of celebrating Sorcha’s birth that has me feeling so sentimental, or maybe it’s just that I’m so bloody grateful for what I have—but I can’t help sending out a silent thank-you to another Sorcha, hoping that wherever she is, she knows that even though a Greer almost took her life once, she ultimately gave life back to one. I hope that somewhere she knows that I will take care of her family, that I will never take them for granted.
Because they’re mine now too.