EPILOGUE
One Year Later
The last time I was in this position, my life was turned upside down and shaken horrifically, like the spin cycle in an unbalanced washing machine.
Nerves, fear, butterflies, excitement, anxiousness. All swirling in my stomach and through my veins making me feel nauseous. I move to my bed and sit on the edge, rapidly bouncing my feet off the carpeted floor. Then I stand up and pace to the large bay window overlooking the street below. It’s almost dark. All the neighborhood kids are inside their homes.
The last twelve months have really gone fast. We moved into this house in early January, so this will be our first Christmas here. Downstairs in the great room, we’ve put up the tree, and the outside is decorated with a plethora of lights that Kyle erected under Matilda’s diligent instructions. Celia has made friends with a group of older ladies on the street and together they’ve formed a knitting club. Matilda spends every afternoon after school and all day on the weekends playing with her new friends. Kyle and I have befriended most of the neighbors too, and we catch up monthly at each other’s houses on a rotation. The move has been really good for all of us.
Only now, I’ve got a sinking feeling in my gut that my world is about to change. Just like last time. Emotions overwhelm me and I can’t stop the tears as the spill over and trickle down my cheeks before I quickly swipe them away with a sniffle.
No, this time will be different. It has to be different.
My ears prick at the sound of Kyle’s truck and I stop pacing to look out the window and see him pulling into our drive. My heart jumps at the sight of him as he steps down from the driver’s seat and walks up the steps and onto the porch, disappearing from my view. Still, I remain staring out the window, looking at nothing, thinking of everything and nothing all at the same time.
My body prickles with awareness when he steps into our bedroom, and I slowly pivot on my heel to face him.
“Hey, babe,” he says, walking toward me. His eyes cast an assessing gaze over my face, and then narrow. “What’s wrong?” He stops in front of me and reaches out to cup my jaw with his strong palms.
“I’m scared,” I choke the words out without warning. That wasn’t what I meant to say, but it’s what came out, and it’s the raw truth. I’m so fucking scared, I feel like I can’t breathe.
“What is it, Liv? Talk to me,” he demands gently but firmly.
I swallow hard and then a sob bursts free of my lips, followed by another, and then a stream of tears. He swipes the wet away with his thumbs, hushing me softly.
“Tell me what’s wrong, beautiful.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt. “I’m pregnant and I wanted to tell you in a way that was special, but last time I tried that, someone died. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to do it on my own again.” The words come out in a tearful, sobbing rush, but I can’t stop the dam that has been broken.
“Oh, baby,” he rasps, tugging me into his chest and wrapping his arms tight around me. “I’m not going anywhere,” he swears. He rubs my back, kisses my head, and whispers soothing words until I get my emotions under control. Then he pulls back and bends down to look into my eyes. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” I confirm on a barely audible whisper.
He sinks to his knees and winds his arms around my waist. Then he brings his face against my stomach and kisses me there. “I’m going to be a dad,” he states, his voice rougher than usual. He looks up and his eyes meet mine. Raw. Unshed tears glisten in his beautiful eyes and I immediately start crying again.
“God, I fuckin’ love you,” he rasps.
I sob. “I love you, too.” Then I go down on my knees and my mouth finds his, and he softly, ever so sweetly, makes love to me as the first snow of the season begins to fall outside.
Six Months Later
It took a little longer than we first anticipated, but it’s finally the opening day of Greenwich Returned Soldiers Retreat. Kyle and Zeek purchased the adjoining property where Kyle’s lake cabin is and they spent time clearing a good portion of the bushland. Then they had ten cabins built, all spaced far enough apart to give the soon-to-be guests their own space, but close enough to know someone is nearby if you need someone to listen. Each cabin has exactly the same basic layout – wood construction, small porch, kitchenette, one bedroom, toilet, and shower. No electricity. A place for them to decompress before facing the real world after they have returned from combat.
The Retreat is swarming with people, most of whom I don’t know, but all who are important to Kyle or Zeek, and their cause. There are past and present military, family, friends, acquaintances, reporters, state members, and even some community members. There are people of all ages ranging from babies to one Army veteran in his nineties. One family in particular emailed and asked if they could attend, explaining their son had returned home from Iraq, and taken his own life after suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. They championed the Retreat and wished it had been available for their son. Maybe he would still be here.
Kyle and Zeek step up onto the porch of one of the cabins and call for everyone’s attention. A hush falls over the crowd as Kyle begins to speak.
“Firstly, we’d like to thank everyone for coming today. It means a lot to us because we’re incredibly proud of the way this idea has turned into a reality. I served five tours in Afghanistan, beside me during every one of those tours, and the basic training that came before that, was the man standing beside me today. When he came to me with the idea for this Retreat some time ago, I knew I’d have my brother’s back. Just like he’s had mine for the fifteen years I’ve known him. Spending time decompressing at our own isolated cabins when we returned from deployment was something that helped us immensely when we returned to civilian life, and our aim is to help as many soldiers as we can. So thank you again, for supporting us.”
“We hereby official open Greenwich Returned Soldiers Retreat,” Zeek booms. “Grab a hotdog, take a look around, explore the grounds, and don’t forget to collect a flier from one of the cabins before you leave.”
The crowd cheers and my heart swells with pride. Standing beside me, Matilda kisses my enormously pregnant stomach before skipping through the crowd and up the porch until she leaps into Kyle’s arms. He boosts her up effortlessly and she kisses his cheek. Their smiles are broad and bright, their eyes shining with love. Watching alongside me, Celia sniffles and wipes away her happy tears as I do the same.
Life is so, so great. And it’s about to get better.
Six months later
Smoothing my hands down the front of my dress, I glance in the mirror one last time. I don’t even look like me. My makeup is applied professionally, flawless, my hair is pulled to the side in an elegant low bun near my ear, and the pretty antique tear-drop diamond earrings I’m wearing were a gift from Celia. They’re my something old. The something new is my wedding dress, something borrowed is the Swarovski crystal-encrusted comb holding my veil in place – the same one my sister, mother, and grandmother wore when they married. And my something blue is the barely-there lace panties I’m wearing – a present for Kyle when he unwraps me from this dress later tonight.
“Ready, love?” my dad asks, poking head into my bedroom. He catches sight of me and gasps before quickly dabbing his wet eyes with his handkerchief. “Liv,” he chokes out. “You look so beautiful.
“Thanks, Daddy,” I whisper. I move to him and link my arm with his. Then we walk downstairs and meet my sister, Meg, Matilda, and my sweet baby boy. Our backyard has been transformed into a wedding paradise. The sea of tiny lights draping from the trees will begin twinkling like stars in just over an hour when the sun begins to set. Between the rows of chairs for the guests is the makeshift aisle I’ll walk down, and at the end of that aisle under a beautiful wooden arch adorned with hundreds of white flowers, stands the man of my dreams.
“Okay, Matilda, you can go now. Be careful,” Breanna instructs.
I watch as my daughter, dressed in a pretty white dress with a flower crown on her head, gently tugs forward the little wagon that her baby brother is laying in, propped up on pillows, and looking like the cutest baby ever in his tiny tuxedo. At just three months old, Oliver Cameron Westwood is already showing he has the same fiercely stubborn blood running through his veins as his father. He made me wait a full eight days after his due date before he decided he was ready to come into the world. He’s placid most of the time, except when he’s hungry or needs a diaper change, and then boy does he let you know! He doesn’t sleep until he’s ready, no matter how many times I spend trying to get him into a routine. He does things his way and his way only. But he’s the cutest little man I’ve ever met, the spitting image of his father. When he was born, Kyle asked me if we could include Zeek’s birth name – Cameron – in our son’s name.
“He’s had my back when it mattered, and when it didn’t. He’s strong and loyal. Fierce to his bones. A warrior and a hero, and I’d love our boy to have his name.”
I couldn’t say no. I wouldn’t. So we named our little man Oliver Cameron, and asked Zeek to be his godfather.
A few seconds pass and then Meg and Breanna follow them down the aisle. Both girls look stunning in their full-length gowns, the color of Fall leaves right before they drop from the trees.
The soft violin version of the Bridal March meets my ears and I know it’s time. Dad pats my arm with his hand and we walk out onto the grass and down the makeshift aisle, passing by all our family and friends. I hear them gasp and murmur how beautiful I look in my fitted dress. It was the first and only dress I tried on, and I loved it immediately. It has capped sleeves, and a V-neck to show off my new, thanks-to-breastfeeding cleavage. It’s backless but only to the middle of my back, where the fabric joins before skimming over my behind and down my thighs. It flares out slightly from there before meeting the ground and flowing into my train. The overlay is the most beautiful floral applique lace, and it’s everything I ever dreamed of and more.
My eyes don’t stray from Kyle’s, and when I reach the end of the aisle, he steps forward and tugs me into his arms, kissing me deeply. Our guests laugh and the officiant clears his throat.
“You’re supposed to wait for that part, son,” he says with a wink, and everyone laughs harder.
We stand holding hands, and after he welcomes everyone, the officiant prompts me to say the vows I wrote.
“Kyle,” I start to choke up immediately. “Even when I didn’t know it, my soul knew you were the one for me. From the first time I met you, something inside me was drawn to you. It took me a while, thank you for being patient,” I say with an amused grin. A ripple of laughter flows through our guests. “But, when I finally started to follow my heart, I found the most beautiful love I’ve ever experienced. You won me over with Skittles and chocolate bars, constellations, and stolen kisses. You’re the best daddy to our babies, and the best friend and partner to me. You always give us your all, and I promise you’ll always receive the same in return. I love you.”
“Liv, baby, you’re the only woman I see. You make my world a better place, and you brightened my days even when you didn’t know it. The first moment I realized I loved you, I thought I was about to die in Afghanistan. Afterwards, I found I’d loved you all along, I just hadn’t admitted it. I promised myself that I’d do everything I could to work my way into your life, and to never let you go. It was tough in the beginning,” he says through a chuckle. “You made me work for it. But nothing worth having ever comes easy, and you’re the best there is, so I was prepared.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “I will go into this marriage with the same loyalty, determination, and passion that I learned in the Army. I will love you as fiercely as I protected this country, and I will never let you down. You’re the woman of my dreams, and I promise to strive every day to be the man of yours.”
I burst into tears, sobbing happily as he slides the platinum band on my finger that matches the solitaire engagement ring he gave me just a month after I told him I was pregnant. Then, with the officiant’s permission, he pulls me into his arms, dips me backward, and kisses me to the cheers of our family and friends.
“God, I fuckin’ love you, Mrs. Westwood.”
“I love you, too, Mr. Westwood.”
Loving Kyle wasn’t something that happened easily, but like my new husband said in his vows, nothing worth having ever is.
The End.