EPILOGUE Callum #2
I’m stunned, watching the two people I love most in the world. My wife and my daughter, my whole heart outside my body.
After a few minutes, Sophie looks up at me with the most beautiful smile, “Come meet your daughter, Callum.”
Carefully, Sophie passes her to me. Matilda’s like me when I was born, my father always saying how in awe he was with my mom because I was over ten pounds. I understand it now. The same feeling rolls through me as I finally hold my daughter in my arms.
God, I can’t believe Sophie grew her, protected her, nurtured her in her body for nine whole months, and then had her cut out of her body. My wife is a goddamn warrior. I’m in constant awe of her.
I settle Matilda into my arms, and feel something click inside of my body as I look at her tiny face, this perfect little human created from our love. This little girl we dreamed and hoped for is finally here with us.
“I’m your daddy,” I whisper to Matilda, so completely overwhelmed with joy. “You are so loved, Matilda.”
Sophie watches us, tears trailing down her temples, with a bright, happy smile. I reach out with one hand to hold hers, the other firmly wrapped around our daughter.
My family. My whole world.
The nurse eventually comes back with a gentle, understanding smile. “We’re going to take her back to get checked out. Dad, do you want to come with us?”
Sophie looks up at me, unsure. “Do you want to go—”
I shake my head.
“She has a whole team of wonderful nurses watching her right now. I’m not leaving you, Sophie.” My hand tightens gently around hers. “We don’t drift.”
“We don’t drift,” Sophie echoes, her eyes closing as she takes slow, deep breaths.
“We’ll take good care of this little girl,” the nurse coos to Matilda, who’s a little displeased at being moved once again, and I have no doubt they’ll care for her.
Just like Sophie’s oncology nurses, these women have been nothing but caring and kind through this whole labor and delivery.
I trust them with my daughter, and right now, I can’t leave my wife while she’s being stitched closed.
I won’t leave her alone, not in a hospital, not ever.
Later that night, Sophie sleeps peacefully on the bed, getting some much-deserved rest.
Tonya, Tess, and my mom left a couple of hours ago after meeting their goddaughter and granddaughter.
The Aunt Ts—godmothers, as well—had oohed and awwed over Matilda, but my mom had gone right up to Sophie, looked her right in the eye, and told her how proud she was of her.
I had to turn away briefly when it was my mom’s turn to hold Matilda, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she finally saw Matilda’s middle name on the board.
Matilda Maeve Rhodes.
I think of my dad, and how he should be here, holding his granddaughter in his arms, pressing a kiss to Sophie’s head, and telling her that she’s a goddamn warrior. I can’t help but think of what my own birth was like.
Was this how my dad felt, out of his mind with terror?
The reality is that you have a small human you have to protect, love, and raise to be a good adult.
The concept of needing to keep them alive, because from what I see with Bailey’s daughters, with Jane and Atticus’s son, they seem terribly determined to get into things that are deadly.
Then I realize that we have a village, a whole family to look out for Matilda, the same way we watch out for Mateo, Angelina, and Forrest. Anything she ever needs, she has people she can call for help.
Gently, I brush a finger down my daughter’s small nose, Sophie’s nose, and feel my heart expand when her face twitches, so much like her mommy when she sleeps.
In this moment, I truly cannot understand Sophie’s parents. How can you bring a child into this world and not want them? How can you look down at their sweet face and just go on uncaring? Matilda will never feel that. Ever. Sophie and I will make sure of it.
She will be adored every second of every day.
Keeping my voice low, I whisper a promise to my daughter, to my wife.
“You and your mommy are my whole world.”
◆◆◆
October
“Matilda, Forrest and Angelina are almost here!”
My very blonde-wig-wearing wife calls up the stairs, her voice excited. Sophie turns toward me and smiles, and in that same moment, we hear the rapid pounding of tiny feet flying down the upstairs hallway as our six-almost-seven-year-old daughter practically flings herself down the stairs.
On the third step, she trips over her own feet, but I am already moving, catching her mid-stumble and spinning her carefully before she hits the floor.
“Careful!” I warn, holding her steady, and not able to resist smiling at her giggles.
“But Daddy, my friends are here!”
“I know that, but you can’t greet them if you bust your little face!”
“That would look cool, though!” Matilda gasps, as if the idea delights her. “It would go with my costume, too! Like at the end of the movie!”
I set her gently on her feet and shake my head in amused resignation.
When I finally get a good look at my daughter’s almost finished costume, I can’t help but laugh.
Sophie had wanted to do a family costume this year, and when we went through the options, Matilda declared we would be doing our favorite movie, The Princess Bride.
Matilda took it upon herself to set the costumes.
Daddy would be Westley/The Dread Pirate Roberts, of course, dressed in all black and masked.
Mommy, naturally, would be Princess Buttercup, complete with a flowing red dress and blonde wig.
And our delicate little girl?
Matilda lifts her chin dramatically, deepening her voice into a comically low growl and points a sword at us. “’Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!’” She pauses, then brightens. “How was that?”
“Very good, honey,” Sophie tells her solemnly, because I am too busy laughing to answer.
Sophie’s mouth stretches into a grin before she gently cups our daughter’s chin and applies a thin eyeliner mustache above her lip.
Matilda swings her handmade sword excitedly, chattering as Sophie adjusts her vest and hair.
I shake my head at the sword that my brilliant wife made out of aluminum foil, gold paint, pipecleaners, and popsicle sticks... and mental fortitude. I have no idea how, but she and Matilda created a replica of the sword in the movie. I continually remain in awe of my wife of a decade.
That thought warms me. Has it really been that many years? Somehow it feels like a decade and a minute. Every moment spent with Sophie is filled with joy. Even during the bad times, even during the stressful times, we always bounce back together because we choose each other through it all.
We made it through cancer, through surgery, through near death together. That always puts things into perspective. If we make it through that, we can make it through anything, as long as we keep choosing each other.
And we will. I will choose Sophie every second of every day.
Because love isn’t just a feeling, it’s not just a thing you say, it’s an active choice, it’s showing up for my wife, for my daughter.
I’m the one setting the example of how my daughter should accept being treated by her future partner.
I want Matilda to see how much I love and treasure her mother, how I choose her every single day, and I want her to accept no less.
It’s not exactly hard to love Sophie, even after all of these years and life changes.
My eyes watch her as my wife fixes our daughter’s outfit, bends to kiss her forehead, and tells her to go grab her candy bag.
It all looks so natural to her—motherhood.
Throughout her pregnancy, she had worried that she was destined to become like her own mother—neglectful and cold.
I told her again and again that she was not destined to repeat her parents’ mistakes. They made choices she would never make.
And there was nothing to worry about. Sophie proved that truth from the first moment she held our daughter. She soothed my nerves and panic, guiding us through sleepless nights, midnight feedings, diaper disasters, and baby fevers with unshakable patience.
And Matilda just adores her, looking at her with pure hero worship.
I cried through Matilda’s project at school last month, where they had to write a paragraph about their chosen hero, and Matilda chose her mommy.
She wrote about how her mommy fought and beat breast cancer, and how she’s so strong and kind and is better than any superhero in comic books.
I was a blubbering mess watching my girls hug each other when Matilda showed her, wrapping my arms around them and swearing I would protect this with everything in me.
Sophie was meant to be a mother, and when I tell her that, she smiles and shakes her head while correcting me.
“I was meant to be Matilda’s mother,” she said, tilting her head up to welcome my kiss. “I was meant to have your baby, my otter.”
Matilda will be our only child, and that is completely fine with us. I didn’t want Sophie to have to go through another difficult pregnancy, so they tied her tubes after her C-Section.
Our family of three feels complete.
Only three. Plot unfortunately crossed the rainbow bridge a couple of years ago when Matilda was still a toddler. He went peacefully in his sleep in Sophie’s arms one morning. I don’t think that cat could have asked for a better end.
Sophie adjusts her wig in the mirror by the front door, and I gently spin her around, wrapping her in my arms. She giggles as I kiss her cheeks, trailing toward her lips.
“You look beautiful,” I murmur into her ear.
“Thank you, my otter,” Sophie laughs, the sound hitting me square in the chest as always. She pulls back to cup my face, and I take her in—my wife. She got some makeup on, only enhancing her beauty, and with her blue-green eyes and pale skin, she really pulls off the Buttercup look.
I’ll always prefer my dark-haired Sophie Rhodes.