Epilogue Tessa
I came through the back door with two bags of groceries in my arms, kicked it shut behind me, and heard voices from the living room.
Callum's voice.
I stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked at the clock on the wall.
Two-fifteen on a Tuesday afternoon. The hardwood floor creaked under my feet as I set the bags on the counter, and I stood there for a second, listening.
He laughed at something, the sound low and easy, and I felt that odd flutter in my chest I still wasn't entirely used to.
Two years, and it still caught me off guard sometimes.
I put the milk in the fridge and left the rest of the groceries where they were.
The floor creaked again as I walked down the hallway toward the living room, wiping my hands on my jeans without thinking about it.
I could see him before I got to the doorway — he was sitting on the couch with a book open on his lap, his reading glasses on, dressed in the dark sweater I'd washed three days ago and jeans that had seen better years.
He looked up before I said anything.
That was the thing. He looked up first, before I'd opened my mouth, before I'd cleared my throat or said his name or done anything to get his attention. Just the sound of my footsteps on the floor, and his head came up, his eyes finding mine through the lenses.
"Hey," he said.
My throat did something stupid. God, you'd think after two years I'd have gotten over this. "Hey. I didn't know you'd be home."
"Changed my schedule." He took his glasses off and folded them, setting them on top of the book. A medical journal, I realized, one of the thick ones with the small print that used to live in stacks on his desk at the hospital. "Cleared my afternoons for the rest of the month."
I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed, trying not to look as flustered as I felt. "It's Tuesday."
"I know what day it is."
"You're usually at the hospital on Tuesday afternoons."
He smiled, just a little, the kind of smile that didn't need explaining. "Not anymore."
I wanted to ask him why, or what had changed, or if everything was all right — but I already knew the answer. He was here because he'd decided to be here. That was the whole reason, and it was enough.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs before I could say anything else, and then Sophie appeared in the hallway behind me, my twelve-year-old with her hair in a messy ponytail and a book tucked under her arm.
Owen was right behind her, carrying what looked like half his collection of toy cars in both hands.
"Dad!" Owen said, his voice bright with the kind of uncomplicated happiness that only nine-year-old boys could manage.
He didn't even look surprised to see Callum sitting there in the middle of the afternoon.
"Can you help me build the castle? The tower keeps falling over and I can't get it to stay. "
Sophie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "He means the block tower. It's not actually a castle, Owen."
"It is a castle," Owen said, indignant. He looked up at Callum with complete confidence that his father would settle the matter. "Right, Dad?"
Callum set the journal aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Let me see what you've got."
Owen dumped the cars on the floor next to the couch and ran off toward his room, presumably to get the blocks. Sophie hesitated, then sat down on the arm of the couch, her book still under her arm.
"What are you reading?" Callum asked her.
She held it up so he could see the cover. A horse on the front, galloping through a field with its mane flying. I couldn't read the title from where I stood, but I'd seen it on her nightstand for the past week.
"It's about a girl who rescues a horse from a bad owner," Sophie said. Her voice was careful, like she was testing whether he'd actually want to hear about it. "She doesn't have any money, so she has to work at the stables to pay for his feed."
"Is it good?"
"Yeah." She smiled, a little shy, and I felt something warm and achy settle in my chest. "It's really good. I'm almost done."
Callum nodded. "You'll have to tell me how it ends."
Owen came back with an armload of blocks, the kind that were supposed to look like stone and had little turrets and flags. He dumped them on the floor with a clatter and started sorting through them, his tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration.
"Okay," he said, holding up a tower piece. "This part won't stay on top of this part." He demonstrated, stacking the tower on a base that was clearly too narrow, and it immediately tipped over and fell. "See?"
Callum slid off the couch and sat on the floor next to him, his long legs folded. He picked up one of the base pieces and turned it over in his hands, examining it like it was a surgical instrument. "You need a wider base. Here — try this one instead."
I watched them for a minute, Owen's head bent close to Callum's as they worked on the castle together, Sophie still perched on the arm of the couch with her book open now, reading but glancing up every few seconds to watch them.
The afternoon light came through the window and made everything look softer, warmer, like a photograph someone had taken and hung on the wall.
A sound came from upstairs, a fussy little cry that meant Iris was awake.
"I've got her," I said, even though no one had asked.
Callum looked up from the blocks. His eyes met mine, and there was something in his expression I couldn't quite name. Not guilt. Not worry. Just — presence. Like he was here, in this room, in this moment, and he knew I was leaving it.
I went upstairs, my hand trailing along the banister, and pushed open the door to the nursery. Iris was in her crib, her face red and scrunched, her little fists waving in the air. She stopped crying the second she saw me, her eyes going wide and curious.
"Hey, sweet girl," I said, reaching down to pick her up. She was warm and heavy in my arms, her head fitting perfectly against my shoulder. "Did you have a good nap?"
She made a soft cooing sound and grabbed a fistful of my shirt.
I carried her over to the changing table and got her cleaned up, talking to her the whole time in the kind of nonsense voice that would have embarrassed me if anyone else had been listening.
She kicked her legs and smiled, a gummy toothless smile that made my heart do something ridiculous.
When I came back downstairs with Iris on my hip, Callum was still on the floor with Owen. The castle had grown considerably — it now had three towers, a wall, and what looked like a working drawbridge made out of a flat piece of cardboard Owen must have found somewhere.
Callum looked up when I walked into the room.
There it was again. That thing he did now, the thing that had become so ordinary I almost didn't notice it anymore. Almost. He looked up, his hands still on the blocks, his attention shifting to me and Iris without hesitation.
"She's awake," I said, which was obvious.
"I can see that." He got to his feet, brushing off his jeans, and came over to us.
Iris reached for him immediately, her little arms outstretched, and he took her from me with the kind of easy competence that still surprised me sometimes.
He'd been good with Sophie and Owen when they were babies, but he'd also been gone most of the time. This was different.
He held Iris against his chest, one hand supporting her head, and she settled there like she'd been doing it her whole life. Which, I supposed, she had.
"I should finish putting the groceries away," I said.
"I'll do it in a minute." He didn't look away from Iris, who was staring up at him with wide, serious eyes. "You've been on your feet all morning."
I'd worked a shift at the clinic, then stopped at the store on the way home.
My feet did hurt, now that he mentioned it.
I sat down on the couch, tucking my legs under me, and watched him with the baby.
Owen had gone back to his castle, adding more pieces to the wall, and Sophie had disappeared at some point — probably back upstairs to finish her book.
The thin gold band on my left hand caught the light.
I looked down at it without meaning to. The ring was worn smooth on the inside, the scratches so small you could barely see them unless you knew where to look.
I'd worn it for eleven years without ever taking it off.
Then I'd taken it off and left it on his pillow, and he'd carried it in his coat pocket for eight weeks, and then he'd given it back to me and I'd put it on my own hand and it had stayed there ever since.
Two years.
God, it felt like longer. It felt like this was just what our life was now, him home in the afternoons, the kids coming to him without hesitation, Iris reaching for him like he'd always been there. Maybe that was the point. Maybe that was the answer I'd been looking for without realizing it.
I rubbed my thumb over the band, feeling the smooth worn metal under my skin.
Callum walked over to the couch and sat down next to me, still holding Iris. She'd fallen asleep against his chest, her mouth open, her little fist curled against his sweater. He shifted her carefully so she was lying in the crook of his arm, and I leaned over to look at her.
"She's out," I said quietly.
"She didn't sleep well last night."
"I know." I'd been the one up with her at two in the morning, walking her around the bedroom until she finally settled.
Callum had offered to take her, but I'd waved him off.
He had surgery in the morning — or he'd had surgery scheduled, anyway.
I didn't actually know what his schedule looked like anymore. He'd changed it.
I looked at him, really looked at him, and he must have felt it because he turned his head and met my eyes.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing." I shook my head, trying to find the words and failing. How did you explain that you'd spent two years waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it hadn't, and now you were starting to believe it never would? "Just — this. You being here."
His expression shifted, something careful moving across his face. "I told you I would be."
"I know."
"Do you believe me now?"
I wanted to say yes immediately, but the word stuck in my throat. Not because I didn't believe him. Because I did, and that was somehow harder to admit. I'd gotten so used to bracing for disappointment that letting go of it felt like stepping off a cliff.
"Yeah," I said finally. "I do."
He didn't say anything, but his free hand found mine on the couch between us. His fingers threaded through mine, warm and solid, and I felt the press of his palm against my knuckles. My wedding ring was there between us, the metal cool and familiar.
Iris stirred in his arms and let out a soft sigh, but she didn't wake up. Callum shifted her again, carefully, and I leaned my head against his shoulder without thinking about it. He smelled like the detergent I used on his sweaters and something else, something that was just him.
"I need to finish the groceries," I said, but I didn't move.
"In a minute."
We sat there for a while, the three of us, with Owen building his castle on the floor and the afternoon light coming through the window. It was an ordinary moment, the kind that didn't mean anything special except that it was ordinary, and that was the whole point.
Eventually I got up to deal with the groceries.
Iris was still asleep, so I left her with Callum and went back to the kitchen.
The bags were where I'd left them on the counter, and I started unloading them, putting things away in the cupboards and the pantry.
Bread, pasta, canned tomatoes, the kind of everyday things that made up a life.
I could hear Callum's voice from the living room, talking to Owen about something. The blocks clattered. Owen laughed.
When I finished, I wiped down the counter and folded the grocery bags to reuse later. My hands were busy, but my mind kept circling back to the same thought. He's here. He's been here. He's going to keep being here.
I walked back into the living room, drying my hands on a dish towel I'd forgotten I was holding.
Callum looked up.