Epilogue 2
COLTON
Six months later…
I didn’t know why I was there, at his behest. Especially since my wife and three-month-old baby were at home. I’d much rather have been with them than lurking outside William’s hospital room.
Thomas had called earlier that morning, stating that William was reaching the end and requesting to see me one last time.
I’d been conflicted since then. My life had genuinely flourished since I left my father behind. I had my own family, my everyday life complete with happiness and fulfilment.
At times, I would reflect back on my pain, the years of torment I had endured and barely survived. But I held no regrets, as every fucked-up decision still led me to my entire world—my wife and my son, who we had named after her late father, Robert.
When I married Charlotte and made her mine, my heart nearly burst open. She was the living personification of everything I had dreamed her to be. Supportive, kind and so full of love that I never doubted her or us.
In loving her, I sincerely believed that I wouldn’t experience that type of vulnerability again until my wife gave birth to our son. In that magical moment, the earth seemed to tip off its axis, causing my universe to centre on this tiny baby that we had created.
I had made many promises over the past few years, but none were more important than the one I gave to my son that day he was born.
I will never fail you, never put anyone else above you. I will protect you against anyone or anything—including myself, if I have to.
They were the lights of my existence, which made me strive each and every day to become the best version of myself for them.
Hence why I shifted forward and entered William’s hospital room. Charlotte wanted to come with me, but I refused. This was something I had to see through on my own, to say goodbye in whatever capacity I could.
The room was quiet, William’s sleeping form perfectly positioned on the bed as his ragged breathing filled the empty space.
I stood there for a minute or two, soaking him in. He had changed much—face gaunt and sunken, his body clearly showing the vestiges of his debilitating disease.
Taking a deep, stabilising breath, I sat in the chair next to his bed and waited.
I allowed him to rest, not wanting to disturb his peace. It also granted me time to reflect on our past.
When I had finally made the decision to come and see him, I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why. I had already accepted his prognosis when I chose not to give him my kidney many years before.
There was no lingering regret, guilt or even misplaced forgiveness. With the people I was surrounded with on a daily basis, I no longer needed validation from the man before me, nor did I feel obligated to give him mine in return.
Instead, I chose to honour our previous father-son bond by reflecting on the good times. Up until my mother’s death, William had been a great father. Back then, I was his first choice, and I’d had the best childhood because of it.
So, although that connection had been irretrievably broken, I could at least acknowledge what we had back then.
As if reading my mind, William’s lids fluttered open, his eyes hazy and doped out—then they suddenly sharpened on my face.
Although he was drugged up on pain meds, there was no denying that he knew I was there. I could easily see the onslaught of emotions in the depths of his eyes—gratitude and love, so much love.
His fingers twitched on top of the blanket, as if wanting to reach out and touch me, though he didn’t have the strength. Instead, I closed that gap, placing my hand on top of his and leaving it there. For him… and me.
I squeezed lightly, letting him know that despite our differences, in the end, I had come to see him.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I said, my voice hoarse, giving him my parting farewell and truce.
A single tear slipped down his cheek as his wavering lips pulled up ever so slightly. Then he closed his eyes once more, never to reopen them again.
Two years later…
“Robbie, slow down! You’re crushing the flowers,” Charlotte called, chasing after our rambunctious two-year-old—well, as much as she could with her massive pregnant belly slowing her down.
I followed behind at a leisurely pace, knowing I should take over and go after our toddler. But I loved her waddle, her pregnancy curves luscious and so bloody delectable I couldn’t help myself.
We finally made it to her father’s burial place, a crushed lily in front of his headstone.
Charlotte turned to me, cheeks flushed, breasts heaving from exertion. “You could help, you know.”
“But you’re doing such a good job, angel,” I said, pressing a kiss to her lips. Again, I couldn’t help myself.
After a quick visit with Robert Senior, we made our way over to my parents’ graves.
Bethany he was just an ordinary human, utterly fallible. And he had paid the price.
I had decided to grant his wish, as I knew that’s what my mother would have wanted. She died loving my father, and he claimed the same in return, stating in his letter that he was looking forward to being with her again.
After I made that final decision, a weight suddenly lifted from my shoulders—one I didn’t know I still carried.
Charlotte sensed the shift, always there, always supporting me in whatever way she could. Her love was a constant reminder of what I held in my hands, a precious gift I’d always cherish and cultivate.
I would continue to lead my life in joy and happiness, knowing my parents now lived in eternal peace. Together.