CALDWELL
YEARS LATER
The chaos in the palace starts before dawn…and I don’t mean royal duties.
“Daddy!” I smile, hearing small feet scurrying down the hallway.
Two seconds later, one of the doors to my bedroom slams open.
Then she’s on me, all glitter and unicorns.
I grunt dramatically when she lands on my stomach, making her snicker.
Izzy is three years old and is convinced sleep is optional and not required to function.
According to her, all she needs to maintain her energy is a little chocolate.
She climbs up onto my chest with the confidence of a child who has never been told no.
“Mama says pancakes.”
“Did she now?” I mumble, eyes still closed. Mama let me sleep in, it appears, but I was up late with the same girl sitting on my chest late last night.
“With chocolate.”
“That sounds like something you’d say, not your mama.”
“Daddy, she said it with her eyes.”
I crack one eye open. My daughter has my relentless nature and her mother’s logic. Dangerous combination. Good. I take solace in that.
“Where’s your brother?” He’s usually following her around like a shadow.
“Eating crayons.”
I sit up fast, almost knocking her over into the pillows. “What?”
“Got you!” Izzy giggles, tickled by her own joke. “He’s still sleeping. Like a boring head.” She sticks out her tongue.
I swing her up suddenly, making her squeal before I toss her over my shoulder to head down to see my wife. Laughter follows us all the way to the kitchen.
My wife sits at the table, hugely pregnant with our third, sipping tea and looking unfairly beautiful for so early in the morning. She smiles at our playfulness.
“Chocolate pancakes?” I ask, moving to the stove.
We redid part of the palace. We wanted a section that felt more like a home. The kids’ rooms are closer, and there are spaces that are all our own.
“No way,” Mable says. “Regular pancakes. Maybe berries.”
“Mama said chocolate with her eyes,” Izzy insists.
Mable’s lips are firmly pressed together, trying not to laugh and keep a serious face.
“Berries,” I say firmly. “And maybe one chocolate chip. For decoration.” I’m a sucker. Wrapped around her tiny finger, as I knew I would be.
Izzy taps her finger against her mouth, considering this. It might be her biggest decision of the day. “Three chocolate chips,” she counters, narrowing her little eyes at me.
“Are you negotiating with a three-year-old?” Jenson asks from the doorway. He’s become a father figure to Mable. She’s close with my parents and adores my father, but it’s different with James. He even walked her down the aisle.
If I didn’t know he was still madly in love with the wife he lost almost a decade ago, I would be jealous, but it doesn’t take me much to get there. I get it, though. Understand it. Jenson is never moving on from his wife. She was it for him. I’d be the same way.
“I’m teaching her to compromise.”
“You’re teaching her you’re a pushover.” Only the people in this room can push me over.
“What the heck, Grandpa?” Izzy has now turned her attention toward Jenson.
I hear Henry and leave those two to bicker it out. When I reach him, he’s wiggling all around. I pick him up and kiss his head before I change him and head back into the kitchen, where Jenson steals him from me, putting him into his high chair.
I start making the batter as the kitchen fills with noise—Izzy’s chatter, Henry’s attempts at words, and Mable’s laughter.
This is what life is really about. It’s not about boardrooms or galas, or the weight of a crown.
All the rest comes second. It’s just this.
Simple morning chaos and a wife who still looks at me like I hung the moon.
As if she’s not the center of it all. As if she hasn’t gifted me with two little ones and another on the way.
Mable catches my eye again, her hand resting on her stomach. We don’t need words. I know what she’s thinking—that we did this.
“Are we ready for breakfast?” I ask, ready to serve the pancakes, making sure Izzy gets hers with the three chocolate chips. Henry smears berries across his face.
I sit down next to my wife, pulling her chair closer. She leans in, resting her head on my shoulder.
Mable was never meant to fit any mold they tried to put her in as a future queen. She was meant to reshape it. To carve out her own path.
“Love you,” I whisper against her hair.
“I know,” she says, smiling. “Now eat your breakfast, Wells. We have a kingdom to run.”
“After pancakes,” I agree. The crown can wait. My family cannot.
I hope you enjoyed Mable and Caldwell’s story!