Maybe all the tragedies in life are meant to happen to get us to the point where everything comes together at the right time. I don’t know if destiny is predetermined or if the choices we make daily are what forms them. I do know the woman walking toward me was always meant to be mine. My soul mate. My other half. Whatever you want to call it. She is mine.

Seven months ago a man died. Maybe at my hands; maybe not. Whitney keeps telling me I didn’t kill Blake Lane. She calls it a fortunate accident. It’s not that she’s happy the man she was married to for ten years is dead. He was, after all, the biological father of our middle daughter. Our soon-to-be middle daughter anyway.

“That for me?” I ask.

“Sure isn’t for me.”

Whitney hands me one of the glass bottles of beer in her hand then leans over me, handing the other one to Shawn before settling herself on my lap.

“Thanks.” Shawn tips his head.

“Y’all both did an awesome job moving all the furniture where I wanted it, so I figured it was well deserved.”

We bought a house in my parents’ neighborhood a few blocks from them and just finished moving in. It took three days. Both my dad and brother helped, but my parents were tired and headed home half an hour ago.

When I finished my residency, I was apprehensive about moving back to my hometown and joining my mother’s practice, but now that we’re here? This feels right.

“You mean all fifty times I moved this couch? I think I deserve a twelve pack.” Shawn takes a long pull from the bottle.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Whitney throws at him.

“This is not the face of a drama queen.” Shawn points at himself. “This is the face of a scary mo-fo. Watch yourself.”

“Scary?” Everly questions my brother from the other end of the couch, where she’s sitting down from him with her Kindle nestled in her lap. Her nose wrinkles, and she cocks her head to the side as she looks over at him. “Like . . . funny scary, or are we talking clown scary?”

She’s doing great despite everything that happened. We did a few months of counseling for all of us. And I’m hoping I’m not missing anything, because it’s as though she wasn’t affected all that much. She says she understands. We tried explaining—the best we could—why Blake did what he did. But really, what exactly are you supposed to tell a ten-year-old in this circumstance?

“Like mother-lovin’ zombie world apocalypse scary. Clown scary, Jesus, girl.” Shawn scowls at her. Turning his head, he looks down at Emersyn shaking his head. She’s sitting in her favorite spot—my brother’s lap. “Can you believe your sister, Em?”

My brother and Emersyn are inseparable anytime they are together. Oddly, it isn’t weird.

“Uncle Shawny, you not scary.” Her small palms shake his head from side to side. “You pretty!” Emersyn beams. “Like a kitty.” She pets his beard, smoothing her hand down only to repeat the motion as if to hammer her point home.

I lose it. Laughter rips from my throat. Whitney and Taralynn follow behind me. Even Everly chuckles. But my brother looks horrified.

“Dude.” My brother trains his brown eyes on me. “Your kids are annoying me.”

“You’re annoying,” Everly counters.

“Bad Uncle Shawny.” Emersyn shakes her finger in front of him, as her head moves with the same motion. “You not make a good daddy talkin’ like dat.”

She’s four now. Her birthday was a few weeks ago, and the baby-talk was quickly going away a few months back until we told the girls that Whitney is pregnant. If anything it’s gotten worse, and she’s gotten clingier toward Whitney instead of how she clung to her sister all the time. Jealousy? Maybe. Probably.

“I’m not the one that’s gonna be a daddy, sugar. Your dad and mom are the ones having a baby.” Shawn’s been more forceful on making sure he refers to me as Emersyn’s father more so than anyone else. It doesn’t bother me, but I’m not so sure it should be forced upon her. She did, after all, have a father. A psycho twisted fuck, but he was still her father. But now, I’m her father. And I always will be even if she decides not to call me dad, daddy, or any word to suggest she sees me as that.

“I know that, funny Uncle Shawny,” she giggles. “But Aunt Tarry got a baby in her belly, too.” Shawn’s eyes freeze.

“How did she know that?” Taralynn asks as shock washes over her face.

 “We gonna have lots of babies.” Emersyn claps her hands.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she is excited about getting a little sister.

“You’re . . . pregnant?” Shawn questions his girlfriend. I can’t tell if he’s shocked, happy, or scared; maybe a little of all three.

“Yeah,” Taralynn sighs. “I was gonna surprise you with it.” She sounds disappointed. Her face falls, confirming my thoughts.

“But we’re not married.”

“Yeah,” Love laughs. “Neither are we”—she points between the two of us—“but we’re having another baby.” Another baby. I missed my firstborn’s birth. And Emersyn isn’t really mine even though I’ve been given the chance to call her mine. I’ve missed so much of my daughters’ lives. The small things. I won’t miss Ella’s birth. I won’t miss her anything.

I tighten my grip around Whitney’s belly, and with my other hand, I sit my beer down on the end table, then I reach for her wrist, bringing it to my lips to kiss.

They are my world—my whole world. And that’s everything I’ve ever needed.