Chapter 22
The children graduated from college.
Noah from MIT.
Ethan from UT.
Sophia from art school.
Olivia from Stanford.
Marcus and I attended each graduation, beaming with pride.
Daniel and his wife attended too.
We'd become one of those modern, blended families that people sometimes wrote about.
Complicated.
Messy.
But full of love.
After graduation, the children started their careers.
Noah went to work for a robotics company in Boston.
Ethan was drafted by a professional soccer team.
Sophia moved to Paris to pursue her art.
Olivia got a job at a publishing house in New York.
They were scattered across the world.
But they stayed close.
They called each other every week.
They visited each other whenever they could.
They came home for holidays.
The bond between the four of them was unbreakable.
They'd been through so much together.
They were each other's first friends.
Each other's greatest supporters.
And nothing could ever change that.
Marcus and I continued our work with the foundation.
We traveled.
We enjoyed our empty nest.
We were happy.
But life had one more surprise in store for us.
When I was forty-five years old, I found out I was pregnant.
I couldn't believe it.
Marcus and I had talked about having more children.
But we'd assumed that ship had sailed.
We were older.
The children were grown.
We'd settled into our life as a couple.
And now this.
A baby.
I was scared.
I was excited.
I was everything all at once.
Marcus was over the moon.
He held me and cried and said, "I get to do it all again. With you."
We told the children.
They were shocked.
Then delighted.
Noah said, "I'm going to be a big brother? At twenty-five? That's awesome."
Ethan said, "I'm going to teach this kid how to play soccer."
Sophia said, "I'm going to paint the most beautiful nursery for him or her."
Olivia said, "I'm going to write stories for this baby. Just like Mama used to write for us."
Even Daniel was happy for us.
He called and said, "Congratulations, Kesha. You and Marcus deserve all the happiness in the world."
The pregnancy was harder than my first one.
I was older.
More tired.
But Marcus took care of me.
The children came home to visit as often as they could.
Aunt Margaret flew in from Colorado to help.
I was surrounded by love.
And when our daughter was born, healthy and beautiful, we named her Eleanor.
Ellie for short.
After the woman who'd changed all our lives.
The woman who'd brought us together.
The woman who'd taught us what family really meant.
She was perfect.
Ten tiny fingers.
Ten tiny toes.
A head full of dark hair.
And the same bright eyes that her namesake had once had.
Marcus held her, crying.
"Hello, Ellie," he whispered. "I'm your daddy. And I love you more than anything in the world."
I watched them, my heart full to bursting.
Life had given me so much.
More than I'd ever dared to hope for.
And now it had given me this.
A new baby.
May you like
A new beginning.
And a chance to raise another child with the man I loved.
