Epilogue Two
November third. How is it already November third?
It’s been exactly one year since I moved in with Sloane.
A little over a year since my life changed for what I thought would be the worst, but what ended up being for the better.
Since officially moving in with Sloane in February, I’ve kept seeing a therapist on a regular basis, and I can now jog.
Not at the pace and the distance I was able to before the accident, but it’s a start.
My goal is to be half-marathon ready in the next eighteen months.
My new physiotherapist thinks I’ll be ready way before that, but I don’t want to push myself.
I’d like to say that everything has been smooth sailing, but that would be a lie.
The asshole in me has won over more than once in the last few months.
Yet, Sloane has been by my side, unwavering every step of the way, including with the setbacks.
A few weeks ago, when we were still potty training Arlow, she peed on the kitchen tile and I didn’t see it.
I lipped and fell on my left leg, making me have to return to the cane for a week or two.
To say I wasn’t impressed would be an understatement, but as always, Sloane called me out on my shit and made me fall deeper in love with her.
At that moment, I didn’t think it was possible to love her more than I already did.
But if there’s anything I’ve learned over the last year, it’s that everything is possible, especially when I have Sloane in my corner.
Which explains why I have a lasagna cooking in the oven, a bottle of red wine decanted, and my girls, yes Gigi and Arlow are my girls, wearing matching T-shirts that read Will you marry our Daddy?