Chapter 30 New Beginnings
The morning after the wedding, I woke to the sound of Waffle barking. The puppy had arrived as a gift from Eleanor, a golden ball of chaos. Damian was already out of bed, and I found him in the kitchen, coffee in hand, watching the dog chase his own tail in circles.
"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."
I smiled. "Still getting used to that."
"You have the rest of your life to practice."
He poured me coffee, and we stood together, the sun rising over the garden where we had exchanged vows just hours ago. The roses still bloomed. The fairy lights still swayed.
The children stumbled in one by one. Leo was still in his pajamas, his hair a wild mess. Lily carried a stuffed bunny. Max asked for pancakes before he even opened his eyes. Rose sat at the table, already reading a chapter book.
"Can Waffle have pancakes?" Max asked.
"Waffle can have dog food," Damian said.
"Waffle wants pancakes."
"Waffle is a dog."
Max looked at the puppy. Waffle wagged his tail and tilted his head. "He said he wants pancakes."
I laughed. "We'll compromise. A tiny piece. But only one."
After breakfast, we took the children to the park. The same park where Damian had first met the girls. The same swings where Rose had looked at him with those knowing gray eyes. The same bench where I had sat, terrified and hopeful.
Leo pushed Lily on the swings, sending her higher and higher. Max dug in the sand with a plastic shovel. Rose sat on a bench, watching everyone with quiet contentment.
Damian sat beside me. "Remember the first time we were here?"
"Rose asked if you were her father."
"She knew before any of us." He took my hand, his thumb tracing my ring. "She's always known more than she should."
I watched our daughter. She was drawing in the sand with a stick, her face serious, her movements deliberate. "She's the reason we're here."
"She's the reason for a lot of things. For all of this."
That afternoon, Rosa came over to help unpack the last boxes from my old apartment.
She found old photographs. Pictures of the girls as babies in matching onesies. Their first steps, both on the same day. Their first birthdays, covered in cake. Damian sat on the living room floor, going through each one slowly, carefully.
"You missed so much," I said quietly, sitting beside him.
He looked up, his eyes wet but steady. "I know."
"But you're here now."
He nodded. "I'm here now. And I'm not leaving."
Rosa handed him a photo of Lily at her second birthday, face covered in frosting. "She still eats like that."
Damian laughed, a warm, full sound. "She gets it from me."
On Tuesday, we had our first family dinner with everyone.
Eleanor came with a casserole. Damian's sister brought her two children. The table was crowded, noisy, perfect. Waffle ran under the table, begging for scraps and tripping small feet. Leo told a long, rambling story about a spider in his room that lasted ten minutes. Max fell asleep in his mashed potatoes, his face landing right in the plate.
After dinner, Eleanor pulled me aside in the kitchen. "How are you, really?"
"Happy," I said. "Tired. But happy."
She hugged me tightly. "That's all I ever wanted for him. For you. For those children."
I hugged her back. "Thank you for being patient with me. For waiting."
"You were worth the wait. Every single day."
On Wednesday, Rose asked to help with Waffle.
She wanted to train him herself. She had watched videos online the night before. She had a notebook full of commands written in her careful handwriting. Damian and I sat on the porch, watching her teach the puppy to sit.
"Heel," she said firmly. Waffle stared at her with big eyes. "Heel means walk next to me. Like this."
Waffle licked her hand and sat down instead.
Rose sighed, but she was patient. "This is going to take a while."
Damian called out, "Be patient. He's just a baby."
Rose turned to us, her expression serious. "I know. So was I once."
I looked at Damian. "She's too wise for her age."
"She gets it from you," he said.
"No, she gets it from both of us."
On Thursday, I found Damian in the yellow room alone.
He was sitting on the floor, looking up at the paper stars he had hung months ago. The girls were at school. The boys were with Eleanor. The house was quiet, almost too quiet.
"What are you doing?" I asked, sitting beside him.
"Thinking." He didn't look away from the stars. "About the first time I saw this room. When I built it for the girls. Before I knew them, before I even knew their names."
He touched one of the stars gently. "I didn't know if they would ever come. If you would ever let them through that door."
"But we came."
"You came." He turned to me. "You changed everything. This room was empty. Now it's full."
I leaned my head on his shoulder. "We changed everything. Together."
On Friday, we took the children to the zoo.
Leo wanted to see the lions first. Lily wanted the giraffes. Max wanted the dinosaurs, which were not real, but he refused to accept that fact. Rose wanted to read every single information plaque.
Damian carried Max on his shoulders. I held Lily's hand. Leo ran ahead, pointing at every animal. Rose walked beside me, reading aloud from the zoo map.
"The giraffe's tongue is eighteen inches long," she announced.
Lily gasped. "That's longer than my whole arm."
"Everything is longer than your arm," Rose said flatly.
Damian laughed, his whole body shaking. "Family field trips. This is what I always imagined."
I looked at him. "You imagined this?"
"Every single day for five years," he said. "And it's better than I ever dreamed."
That night, after the children were asleep, we sat on the porch. Waffle was curled at our feet, exhausted from the day. The stars were bright and countless.
"One week," I said.
"One week married."
"How do you feel?"
He took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. "Like I've been waiting my whole life for this week."
I kissed his cheek. "Me too."
"We have a lot of weeks ahead. Thousands of them."
"I know." I leaned into him, feeling his warmth. "And I'm not scared anymore."
"Not even a little?"
I thought about the fights we would have. The challenges. The sleepless nights with children and puppies. The ordinary, beautiful chaos of a shared life.
"Not even a little," I said.
He pulled me closer. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."
We sat in silence, watching the night. Somewhere inside, our children dreamed. Somewhere in the distance, the city hummed its quiet song.
We had lost each other. We had found each other. And now, we were living the life we had always been meant to share.