Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Sometimes I think about what my life would’ve been like had my wife never written me the letter, had Angelica never been born, and I can’t believe I was ever happy, ever content, ever fulfilled.
But I wasn’t.
My wife, our family, our future.
It’s all that matters to me.
“That’s it,” I whisper when Angelica starts to feed, stopping her crying.
She grabs onto my finger with her tiny fist, so precious and delicate I feel a tear rise in my eye.
My instinct is to reach up and wipe it away, but I stop myself.
I’m still a beast, a predator, a man capable of protecting my family no matter what.
But there’s too much love inside of me to pretend not to feel.
I lean down and kiss the top of my daughter’s head softly, her baby scent washing over me.
“I love you so much, princess,” I whisper.
Extended Epilogue
Ten Years Later
Zoey
“Mommy, look,” Jennifer calls, waving her paintbrush at her canvas as she smiles across at me. Our five year old is always full of life, her dark almost black hair shining in the late-day sun as her grin lights up her face. “Is it good, Mommy? What do you think?”
I wander over to her, my footsteps causing the paper to crinkle beneath my feet. This is one of my favorite things to do, painting in the studio with my girls…
Of course, our boys prefer to wrestle in the pool with their father, splashing loudly and sending love-filled noises of happiness fluttering through the air like butterflies toward us.
I run my hands through Jennifer’s hair, savoring how soft it is as I turn to her painting.
“You see,” she says, pointing with her brush. “There’s you and there’s Daddy, and there’s Angie-Ang…”
I smile at the nickname she’s given to our oldest daughter, Angelica. She sits on the other side of the room, her forehead knitted in concentration as she fills in her piece.
Unlike the boys and Jennifer who have their father’s black hair – before it turned the steel-gray that fills my chest with love – Angelica has my deep brown shade.
“And Mommy, Mommy,” Jennifer says, drawing my attention back to her painting. “Look there, that’s Russ and that’s Markus and down there, you see down there, Mommy, that’s little Chrissie-Chris. Do you think I’ve made him cute enough, Mommy?”
My heart surges as my eyes move over her painting, at the five year old brushstrokes depicting our family. She’s drawn a crude crib at the bottom of the piece with a plump cheeked little baby inside, causing me to listen out for the baby monitor just in case Christopher needs me.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her. “It’s really, really beautiful.”
“Will you put it on the fridge, Mommy?”
I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Of course I will, angel.”
“Nah uh.” She giggles. “Angelica Angie-Ang is angel. I’m Jenny-Jen. I’m, um, what was it called, Mommy? Jen-erator. Is that right? Angie, is that what you said?”
Angelica smiles around her easel. We exchange a look for a moment, a passing breath, that makes me imagine what she’s going to be like when the years wear on and she becomes a teenager. I know she’s going to be an artist, like me. She approaches her work with so much passion, so much commitment.
“That’s it, Jen,” she says. “But do you remember why?”
“Ummmm.” Jennifer taps her chin, and then her eyes light up. “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s because I gre-gen-er-ate lots of laughs for you and Mommy, right?”
I giggle when my sweet daughter tries to pronounce generate, and Angelica and I nod together. Jennifer loves making us laugh – even when she’s not quite sure why – and giggles along with us.
“That’s it, sweetness,” I say. “Are you done with your painting or do you want to go swimming with Daddy and the boys?”
“Swimming,” she says, lighting up at the idea. I’ll never get tired of how wonderfully enthusiastic young children are, no matter how many I bring into the world. “But only if you come, Mommy, please, please?”
“Ummmm.” I tap my chin, imitating her, making her laugh even more brightly.
“Nah uh, Mommy, that’s my thing. I’m the ummmm girl.”
I laugh and nod. “Fair enough. Let me check on Christopher and then I’ll join you. Sound good?”
“Yay.” She cheers, leaping to her feet. “I’ll go get my swimsuit on. I can do it all by myself now, Mommy. You’ll see.”
I reach down and squeeze her shoulder, constantly stunned at the love working its way through me. “I believe you.”
She skips from the room and I turn to Angelica. “You coming, honey?”
She smiles and rolls her eyes. “You know I can’t leave a painting unfinished, Mom. But I’ll come out afterward.”
“Okay, and Angelica… I’m so proud of you, of how seriously you take your work. I just want you to know that.”
Her cheeks redden and she narrows her eyes at me, but I can tell how much the compliment means to her in the glimmering of her eyes. “Mom.”