Epilogue
“From Loss to Labor: How Love Survived What Should’ve Broken Us”
Ihad been through a lot in life, but nothing, and I mean nothing, prepared me for seeing the woman I loved laid up in a hospital bed, cussing at nurses, drenched in sweat, and howling in pain with the fury of a banshee that missed breakfast.
“GET THIS THING OUTTA ME!” Chesteria screamed at the top of her lungs, gripping the bed rails like she was riding a damn rollercoaster from hell, and trying to yank the devil himself out with her bare hands.
The nurses didn’t even flinch. They stayed calm, unfazed, moving around the room with the ease of people who’d already witnessed five exorcisms and a demon birth before clocking in—one of them even yawned.
Meanwhile, I stood there clutching her hand with the wide-eyed panic of a rookie in the playoffs, silently praying my fingers would survive the labor death grip.
“Baby, breathe,” I said gently, wiping her forehead, trying not to get cussed out too. “You’re doing so good. Just a little longer.”
Chesteria shot me a glare so sharp, I felt my soul scoot back three feet in fear.
“Bryce, listen to me,” she panted between contractions. “This is the only baby you’re ever getting out of me! You hear me?! One! Singular! This baby better come out with a retirement plan and a trust fund because I’m done!”
The nurse giggled behind her mask.
Chesteria turned her wrath that way. “And you,” she pointed at her, “I need a different nurse! You’re too calm! You’re making me feel like I’m overreacting, and I am not!”
Another contraction hit, and she hollered again. I braced myself, offering up ice chips as a peace offering, fully aware they weren’t about to save me from getting verbally bodied in front of the entire delivery room.
“I love you, so, so much,” I whispered.
Chesteria looked at me again, sweat glistening on her brow, eyes wild and tired. “Don’t talk to me! You did this with your stupid dimples and your strong-ass swimmers!”
I shut the hell up… for the time being.
Chesteria squeezed my hand one more time and roared.
A nurse looked up and announced calmly, “We’ve got a crown.”
Chesteria shouted, “I don’t care if I got a whole jewelry box down there, GET. IT. OUT!”
And that’s when I knew that woman was my soulmate.
Warrior. Warden. Wife. All of it.
Yup… wife.
We had been married for six months. Chesteria didn’t want to wait another year to walk down some aisle or plan centerpieces; she just wanted us. And truth be told, so did I. So I gave her what she asked for—my last name, my loyalty, and my love.
“He’s almost here, Mommy. I need one more big push!” the doctor urged.
Suddenly, my chest got tight.
I wasn’t ready—I thought I was.
Then I saw his tiny shoulders, then his legs, squirming into the world. And before I could even process it—
WAAAAHHHH!
His cry cut through the room like a trumpet announcing a brand-new king.
Chesteria collapsed back against the bed, breathless, tearful, hair wild and crown slightly crooked. But even with the pain and sweat, she was beautiful.
One of the nurses smiled as she wiped him down. “Eight pounds, thirteen ounces, mom and dad. He’s a big boy!”
When they laid him on Chesteria’s chest, we both lost it. She was crying; hell, I was too. Our eyes met, and I swear, in that moment, the whole world paused. Everything we’d been through had led us here… to him.
I peered down at him and then back at Chesteria. “Almost nine pounds, though? I guess that’s what all those Oreo milkshakes and lemon pepper cravings went to, huh?”
She laughed through her tears, brushing his cheek. “He could’ve been twelve pounds for all I care. As long as he’s here and he’s healthy, that’s all that matters.”
I kissed her forehead. “You did great, though, baby.”
“We did,” she corrected, still smiling.
An hour passed, and our son was wrapped up, finally quiet, and we were still floating in that newborn bubble.
Knock knock.
Me and Chesteria turned toward the door, expecting a nurse, family, or maybe one of our friends… but in walked the last person either of us probably expected to see.
Adrian.
After the trip, each ‘couple’ kind of went our separate ways.
Life picked up speed, and even though we swore we’d keep in touch, time and distance did what they always do.
Isis even put in her two weeks’ notice when she got back to work.
After that, it was radio silence—no texts, no calls… just gone.
So seeing Adrian now? Yeah… shock is an understatement.
Adrian swaggered in slowly, smirking. “I thought I felt some new energy enter the world.”
I stood up and dapped him up. “Yo! What’s good, man?”
“All is well. All is well,” he repeated, looking around. “What’s good, Chesteria? Congratulations.” Adrian leaned in, nodding at our son. “He’s handsome… big, too. Look like he already got questions about rent and relationships.”
We all laughed.
“Hey, Adrian. Still cracking jokes, I see. But thank you.” Chesteria cocked her head. “Hold up, though. How did you even know we were here?”
Chesteria beat me to the question.
“Man, I was headed to the vending machine when I overheard a nurse at the desk say the name ‘Frost.’ I paused, then I peeped the name and room number on the whiteboard. Curiosity got the best of me, so I followed the trail. When I saw that little ‘Welcome Baby’ airplane sign on the door, I was like, Nah… ain’t no way.
So, me being me, I knocked and let myself in.
” He smirked. “Figured I was either walking in on a miracle, or about to be slapped with a HIPAA violation. I just rolled the dice and took my chances.”
“The better question is, what the hell you doing at the hospital? On this floor anyway?” I asked.
“I’m here for the same reason as you, nigga. I had a baby too!” he announced, full of pride, rubbing his hands together like he just hit a lick. “My daughter was born three doors down. Swear to God! We out here populating the third floor!”
Chesteria shook her head. “Adrian, please tell me that you did not have another child?”
Right then, Isis stepped in. “We had a baby, “she confirmed, shimmying a little, looking like she hadn’t just pushed out a whole human.
Isis’s hair was laid, makeup was flawless, and a satin robe tied at the waist, giving very much hostess of girls’ night instead of a woman recovering from childbirth.
“Hey, girl!” She waved at Chesteria, smiling.
Chesteria and I exchanged looks, silently acknowledging the plot twist we hadn’t signed up for.
“Hey, boo. But wait!” Chesteria sat up straighter, eyebrows rising. “How did this happen?” she gestured between them. “I mean, yeah, we know y’all did the grown-up at the cabin, but I thought that was gonna be a one-and-done, thank-you-for-your-services type of deal.”
Isis leaned against Adrian the way one might test the firmness of a luxury headboard. “I guess you can’t help who you fall in love with.”
Adrian nodded, grinning. “Yeah, we tried the just-fucking route, but the more we fucked, the more we liked each other. Then we found out she was pregnant, and we were like... might as well put all this energy to good use.”
“Oh… but that’s not all,” Isis added, lifting her hand.
A chunky, sparkling ring caught the light.
“We’re also engaged! Can you believe it? Me! The Isis! Engaged! Like... voluntarily… not even under duress!”
Chesteria laid her head back, scoffing. “I’ll be damned. Well, I guess y’all should know that we’re married.” She smiled, lifting her hand to show off the ring.
Isis strutted over in full Project Diamond judge mode and gently grabbed Chesteria’s hand. “Oh, Adrian… you gotta step your game up! Her ring makes mine look like it came out of a Cracker Jack box!”
Adrian chuckled and threw his hands up. “I’m working on it, baby. It’s the thought that counts.”
Isis sashayed back over to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re right, baby. I love you.”
Me and Chesteria were still sitting there, mouths slightly open, blinking in disbelief.
The whole time I’m thinking… either this man put a spell on her, he got that Hocus Pocus Henny Dick, like, soul-snatching, contract-signing, got-you-folding-laundry-with-a-smile type of pipe, or they’re just toxic soulmates who finally synced up.
I shook my head, still trying to wrap my mind around it. “So did y’all have a girl or boy?”
“A beautiful princess,” Isis stated proudly, grinning. “Her name is Monet Simone Faulkner. Pretty. Classy. No apostrophes or silent letters. Just a name you can put on a resume and a baby chain.”
“Well congrats are in order for you two,” Chesteria said.
“Same to y’all, girly!” Isis chirped, glancing at our son in Chesteria’s arms. “Life is simply amazing,” she added, her voice softer now. “If somebody had told me a year ago that I’d have a baby and be engaged now—”
“You would’ve threw your mimosa in their face and blocked their number for disrespect,” Chesteria finished, chuckling.
Isis gasped. “Exactly, girl!”
Over the next thirty minutes, we caught up like no time had passed.
Adrian revealed that one of his “kids” wasn’t actually his. He found out during a messy paternity test and a three-way argument that ended with someone throwing a grilled cheese across the room. After that, he officially left the drug game behind and enrolled in carpentry school… and he’s thriving.
“Top five in the class… and I ain’t number five,” he made sure to let that be known.
But that wasn’t the only change. Adrian also started putting his voice to use. He now gets booked for weddings and sings on weekends at a local lounge.
“People pay me to make ‘em cry during they vows now. Love songs, classics, whatever pay the best,” he joked, proud but humble about the pivot. “It’s just something I do on the side. Gotta keep the bills paid.”
I don’t even know if I was more proud of his growth or if Chesteria had me beat.
Isis is still… Isis—just slightly more humble. She’s no longer working as a flight attendant at all; now she’s focusing on a clothing line that she’s launching for babies and women. Isis said Monet would be the first model… followed by Chesteria.
“You got the shape and the sass; my line needs women with both,” she told Chesteria.
We all promised to really keep in touch this time.
Group chats. Movie nights. Double dates. Baby playdates. Holiday kickbacks. No more disappearing… no more shade… just growth.
I glanced down at our son, his tiny chest rising and falling in sync with Chesteria’s slow breathing. She was drifting off, but still smiling, like everything in her life had finally come into place.
They say third time’s a charm, but for us, it was the second time that softened the blow and stitched up what the first tore apart.
I’ll never understand why God didn’t see fit for our baby girl to make it, why she had to leave before we ever heard her cry, or why I had to kiss Chesteria’s tears more than I kissed her belly.
Some answers never come, and maybe they’re not meant to.
But God gave us another chance, another heartbeat, and another reason to believe love can bloom again after grief scorches the soil.
I looked down at Chesteria holding our son—our second chance. She is still the strongest woman I’ve ever known, and somehow, she’s even more beautiful in this chapter than in the last.
This little dude don’t just got our last name; he got our story, our mistakes, our bounce-backs, and our prayers that we didn’t even say out loud.
He’s proof that even when two people pull apart, they can still come back and build something solid, and that the end of one story can be the beginning of a better one.
If you take anything from this story, let it be this:
Love doesn’t always come easy, but when it’s real, when it’s God-written, and when it’s earned through fire and forgiveness, it’s worth every damn tear—Alecia J.
The End.