Page 182 of Mila: The Godfather

“Why are you nervous, mo chuisle?” I hold my six-year-old daughter’s hand tight as we walk down the beach in search of her mother.

After years of countless attempts to get pregnant, luck was finally on our side and blessed us with our little piece of heaven.

Willow Emersyn.

A tiny girl who came to give us more love, magic, and laughter.

Looking down at my sweet girl, I give her all my attention as she moves her hands, explaining to me how she feels. We communicate through sign language whenever she doesn’t feel like using her voice.

Both Mila and I and everyone who’s part of Willow’s life have learned sign language. Not only do we love her, but we also want her to feel just how important she is. We would do anything to make life simpler for her.

I would move land, sea, and sky just to make the world better for her.

Make life less ugly.

Willow, alongside her mother, is my heartbeat.

My reasons for breathing.

My light in the dark.

Do you think that he or she will like me? She signs, and my heart instantly melts. That’s my kind-hearted little girl. She didn’t get anything from me. That sweetness is all her mother.

“Of course, they will, and if they don’t, I’ll drown them here in the ocean. Won’t that be fun?” I point toward the ocean, making her smile at me. Just like her mother in every fucking way, and I couldn’t be more proud or thankful. Willow looks like a replica of her mother except for the color of her hair, which instead of being a medium shade of blonde, is light brown like mine.

She has the same unruly curls just as her mother, framing her cherubic face and the same pouty lips.

Blue eyes that can light up my darkest days.

Just like her Mum.

That’s not nice, Daddy.

“I’m not nice, and no one hurts my girl.” I squeeze her tiny hand and watch, in amazement, as she taps her chest three times just like her mother, but out of nervousness and not out of fear like my wife did when I first met her.

Willow reminds me so much of both my wife and my Mum when she does it. Sometimes, I feel like my Mum is there in every little sweet thing Willow does for me. I choose to believe that.

A gentle squeeze of my hand interrupts my thoughts. Dropping to my knees and grabbing my daughter’s shoulders, I make her look at me. Unlike her mother, Willow can read people’s expressions with ease. She has a disability of her own, but it’s not the same as Mila. But they’re both perfect in every way. “There’s nothing to worry about, mo chuisle. Just be yourself, and you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand.” I poke her nose, trying to get her to smile at me the way I love– with her whole heart.

“I love you, Daddy.” My baby girl says in a cute voice, just slightly off-key. Willow has no hearing in her left ear, but luckily, she has some hearing in her right, almost one hundred percent. It made me adore her more, if possible.

“I love you, my pulse.” I sign the words at the same time I say them. She can speak, but she chooses who to share her voice with. As of now, she only speaks to her mother and me. But unlike her mum, she would never grow up thinking she should be ashamed of her disability or had to hide it. Mila was teaching her to be proud of exactly who she is. She’s ensuring that our baby girl never feels ashamed to be exactly who she is—without apology. Willow was shy and reserved like Mila, unlike her cousins, who were as loud as they came. Now, she has to adjust to another person who will be part of our home for a little while. After the doctors advised us that getting pregnant a second time could cause serious problems for Mila’s health and the baby’s, we chose the adoption route.

A journey I never thought about, just like, at one point, I thought having kids was not for me. Now, I would do absolutely anything to keep the smile on my butterfly’s face, and if a house full of kids is what she wants, then I’m all for it.

“Where’s mommy?” Willow whispers. “I’m here, angel girl,” Mila called as she appeared a few feet away us. I smiled at my wife as I watched her walk down the beach toward us. The wind blew those gorgeous curls in all directions. She looked beautiful as always, dressed in a floral blue dress. After I break away from the spell of her beauty, I notice her holding a little hand.

A smaller hand that belongs to a young boy with pale skin, dark as-night hair, and guarded green eyes.

Out of reflex, I hold my baby tighter now that I realize that it’s a boy and not a girl like I initially thought. My clever, sneaky wife forgot to mention that tiny detail.

Willow pulls on my pant leg, making me look down at her and away from my wife and the kid. He looks angry. My daughter sighs instead of speaking like she does when it’s just us.

“He’s just… shy, baby.” For the kid’s sake, I hope that’s all it is. Willow doesn’t look so sure. Same, angel girl.

When both kids remain quiet, Mila tries again.

“Willow girl, meet Madden.” My wife bends down, still clutching the boy’s hands. The kid is older than I thought. Tall and lanky. He must be around nine or ten years old.

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