Epilogue
Mason - Eight Months Later
Easter morning starts with two happy babies.
Six weeks old. Fed in bed at the same time, Megan propped against the headboard, one baby tucked on each side while I’m in the kitchen flipping eggs and buttering toast.
It’s become our Sunday rhythm these last few weeks, the only morning of the week we’ve actually figured out. We didn’t take the girls to church until they were two weeks old, back when Megan could finally get around without wincing every time she sat up.
Those early days…gosh, they were something.
I got two weeks off work and it still wasn’t enough. Leaving Megan to recover from a major surgery while taking care of two newborns? Impossible. And she would’ve drowned if we didn’t have a village stacked three miles high.
Between my mom, Megan’s mom, and Ella, Karissa, Addison…even Cody and Jesse, someone was always here. Like shifts. Diapers changed. Meals dropped off. Arms always reaching to hold a baby so Megan could nap, shower, breathe.
We never once felt alone.
I carry a plate back to the bedroom—an egg sandwich and a cup of coffee for Megan—and she looks up from her little nest of pillows and babies like I just brought her diamonds.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice sleepy-soft. She shifts Lydia onto her shoulder. “She’s done. You can take her. Naomi on the other hand…”
“Taking her time?” I say, reaching for Lydia, the overachiever, always first at everything.
Lydia Faith was the one who made her entrance head down, ready to go. Naomi Grace? Breech. Stubborn. The reason Megan needed a C-section.
Now, here we are. Easter morning. Two months later. Two babies with two wildly different personalities already.
I step out of the bedroom, weaving around the two bassinets like I’m navigating an obstacle course. We have two of everything. And our house? Not exactly built for it.
If I thought our place was pink before, I was delusional.
Pink swings. Pink bouncy seats. Pink blankets, pacifiers, bottles, burp cloths, car seats. Hair bows in every shade between bubble gum and cotton candy.
You name it, it’s pink, and we have two.
“Let’s go clean up the kitchen,” I say softly, heading that way. She stares up at the ceiling as I walk, like she’s counting the wooden beams.
I bring a bouncy seat over, lay her in easy, and let her watch me rinse and load the dishwasher.
Just as I’m done, Megan shuffles out, Naomi in her arms. She sets her in the other bouncy seat, then joins me in the kitchen with the rest of her sandwich. She cups her coffee between both hands.
“Mase,” she murmurs, sliding onto a stool. “I can clean up later. Why don’t you eat with me?”
“Oh—” I rub the back of my neck. “I kinda ate mine while I made yours.”
“Oh.” She nods once, small. “Okay.”
“Sorry,” I add quickly. “I just thought…we had a lot to do to get out the door on time.”
“Right.” Her voice is soft. Not annoyed, not angry, just…something else. She holds her coffee but doesn’t drink.
“But, uh—” I walk around the island and pull a stool beside her. “I can sit with you while you eat yours.”
Her eyes flick from the counter to me.
“I just don’t like the rush,” she whispers. “I feel like we’re getting disconnected.”
I still, hand halfway to her leg. Heart kicking once, hard.
“Really?” I ask quietly, settling my hand on her thigh.
She nods, eyes shining, just barely. “Not entirely, but everything just feels like business. And I know it’s…probably normal. With newborns. And two of them. And not sleeping great. I know this is just a season, but I miss us. I miss not just…surviving.”
That hits me right in the chest.
Because I didn’t realize she’d been feeling that way.
I shift closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine. I think I’m just overwhelmed with the whole day—church, lunch, everyone. I don’t know.”
“Well, we don’t have to stay and hang out? We can eat and run?”
She shakes her head. “I feel like that’s rude.”
“It’s not. Wes and Addie leave early for Weston’s nap every week. And Karissa takes Gage home for his too.”
“Yeah, but the girls are still little enough that they can nap on you or in something.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” My hand rubs her leg. “I promise, nobody’s going to care.”
She sighs, tucking her hair back behind her ear.
My mind drifts back to this week. Why she’d be feeling this way.
I guess it makes sense. I worked all week, per usual, but I wasn’t too late other than one night, and my mom was here.
I recall her mom here one night, and I stop my thoughts.
She didn’t say help, she said me. Connecting with me.
“You’re right,” I add. “We are surviving more than we’re connecting. But we’re still us. I promise we are.”
She leans into my shoulder a little, her forehead brushing my arm. “I just want to feel close to you again.”
I lean my head against hers. “I want that too. Tonight? Let’s make it happen.”
“No, Mason, I’m not just talking about sex, I’m talking about normal moments. Like breakfast. Or Sundays. Or folding laundry.”
I laugh softly. “You wanna bond over folding laundry?”
She swats my leg, smiling as tears gather in her lashes. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” My voice softens. “And I hear you.”
She nods once and wipes her cheek.
I tilt her chin up with my fingers. “Hey. We’ll get better at slowing down. I promise. And say something next time, before you start feeling this far away from me.”
She bites her lip, emotional in a way that makes me want to pull her into my lap and hold her for an hour.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I lean forward and kiss her slowly. Not rushed, not distracted…really kiss her.
When I pull back, her eyes flutter open.
“There,” I murmur. “A start.”
She laughs through her tears.
The twins coo at the same time, like they’re talking to each other.
Megan sniffles, smiling softer now. “Okay. I’m better. Thank you.”
“Good,” I say, brushing a hand against her back.
* * *
“You boys might have to build me another piece for the table,” Mom jokes, looking at all the kids.
We already built an extension piece for Mom for Christmas, us boys, and she cried. She loved it. We all fit—for now. I don’t know how it’ll be once the girls are in seats. Plus, Addison’s already got another one in the oven. Another boy, due in July.
“Well, there won’t be any more from us.” Karissa nudges Cody. “Tell ’em, honey.”
He clears his throat. “Oh, I’m getting snipped next month.”
A round of oohs and laughter travels the table.
Ella doesn’t miss a beat. “Wow. Maybe you should take notes, Jess.”
“No, thank you,” Jesse says, leaning back like the king of confidence. “We’re not done.”
Ella’s eyes widen. “I am done.”
“Yeah,” Jesse shrugs. “Today. You’ll change your mind next week.”
She scoffs. “No, I won’t. You’re just blaming me because you’re scared.”
“It’s not even a big deal,” Cody cuts in, waving his fork. “All they do is make two little incisions right in the—”
Jesse quickly holds up a hand. “Stop.”
The table erupts again.
Dad chimes in through his laugh, “Keep a couple bags of frozen peas in the freezer, Karissa.”
Cody blinks. “For what?”
Mom leans forward, trying not to smile. “Well, sweetheart…you’re gonna be a little sore.”
Cody whips his head to Karissa. “They didn’t say anything about being sore!”
Jesse smirks. “Uh-huh. And now who’s scared? See? I did my research.”
“Oh my gosh, you guys are such babies!” Addison groans.
“They could never give birth,” Ella declares.
“Yeah,” Megan adds. “Imagine them needing a C-section…”
It’s the loudest laugh of the night, the shoulders shaking kind of laughing. But the men don’t disagree; they know they couldn’t handle it.
While everyone else cleaned up lunch, Jesse, Cody, and I went out to hide Easter eggs for the kids. And since Cora’s the oldest at not even five, our hiding spots were…generous.
Eggs laying right in the grass. Bright ones tucked in the mulch, a few scattered around the swing set. Very advanced stuff.
We head back inside to straight chaos. Megan’s on the couch tandem feeding the twins under the blanket Lydia absolutely despises, her feet kicking out the side like she’s trying to escape.
Wes and Addie have the rest of the toddlers on the floor, surrounded by plastic farm animals and enough noise to actually qualify as a petting zoo.
Once everyone’s ready, we head outside like a herd of cattle. Mom decides she wants pictures first.
“Before anybody gets grass stains!” she calls, clapping her hands like a coach gathering her players.
We wrangle all the toddlers in front of the big bush that’s just starting to bloom with white flowers. It looks really pretty. Spring is finally showing up after a cold winter.
Megan and I decide that Emma and Cora, being the oldest cousins, have the best shot at not dropping the twins.
We hand each girl a baby and stay close, hovering like two anxious first-time parents would.
Everyone else crowds in too, close enough to grab a child but far enough to stay out of the frame.
“Be very careful,” Jesse tells Cora.
Cody echoes to Emma. “Yeah. Careful, Em. Careful—no, CAREful.”
Wesley and Karissa are trying to get Gage and Weston to stay sitting in their designated spots. Gage thinks it’s a game of “escape the photo,” and Weston is blinking back tears, his lip wobbling. When Hallie wraps her arm around him to help keep him still, he immediately breaks into a full cry.
“Okay, QUICK! Take it!” Addie says, already backing out of the frame before Weston’s crying infects the rest of the kids.
“Alright, everyone, look up here! Smile!” Maureen calls, holding her phone high and snapping burst after burst. The adults behind her start making animal noises, clapping, waving, doing whatever it takes to get the toddlers to look human and not feral.
The older kids actually smile. The babies, including the twins, are nothing short of confused. Megan’s shoulders creep higher with every squirm, Naomi sliding in Cora’s hold.
“I’ve got her, babe,” I whisper, stepping in and repositioning Naomi quickly before disaster hits.
Cody squints at the lineup of children and snorts. “They look like a carton of actual Easter eggs.”
He’s not wrong. Our girls match Megan in pastel pink-and-white floral dresses, tiny bows on their heads, frilly socks, the whole nine yards.
Cora and Hallie are matching in yellow-and-purple dresses, matching bows clipped into their hair.
Emma and Gage are color-coordinated in pale green and soft blue, and Cody and Karissa are matching them.
And Weston, Addie, and Wesley, all in jeans and tops that somewhere include light blue.
Maureen lowers her phone and waves us all forward.
“Alright, now one with everyone.”
Everyone grabs their own kids, shuffling in close, fitting together like a puzzle we’ve been building for years. It hits me then…we’ve tripled the size of this family in less than five years. It’s wild. It’s beautiful. It’s…us.
“Okay!” Mom calls out, smiling big behind the phone. “Everybody, look right here!”
We look.
Dad stands behind her, giving her bunny ears and making a stupid face, and of course the toddlers crack up. Cody does too, louder than anyone.
Mom’s phone goes off like a woodpecker, snapping what sounds like a hundred pictures a second.
One of them will end up being the picture.
The one that holds everything:
Our first Easter as a family of four. Our village all around us. Every answered prayer standing on this patch of grass.
Our whole world in one frame. Nothing crazy. Just everything that matters.