Page 152 of The True Garza
“Infidelity.”
And then I’d suffer what was the equivalent of a mini heart attack at the thought of losing her.
Thirteen months into our relationship, when London was on the brink of calling it quits, Sonya suggested we upped our sessions to once a week. Had us doing interactive exercises like we were kids, which I was resistant to at first but got more into when I noticed it was making a difference.
Our shouting matches became calm discussions. Our communication became honest conversations. We developed systems on how to amply give each other what we both needed.
AndIhad to do solo sessions to deal with my RSD issues, where I had to learn to accept that London was allowed to have happiness and enjoyment outside of me.
Once we accepted that my issues weren’t things I could “change,” but things I could actively work on andadjust, to make it easier for us to workwith, everything changed. The bumps in our relationship gradually smoothed out, and we fell in love with each other all over again. We became closer than ever. Best friends.
London’s strong, but I knew it wasn’t easy for her to be mine. That it was exhausting. That her life would’ve been so much lighter if she was with someone else, someone simpler, someone less difficult to love.
Still, my woman got up every day and shechoseme. To stay with me. To love me unconditionally. And for that, I deny her nothing. Make it my priority to give her the best, most comfortable life. Do anything she asks. Nothing’s ever too good for her. Nothing. Because she didn’t give up on me.
Twenty months into the relationship, she moved in with me. Four months later, I asked her to marry me.
It’s a little later than I’d hoped it would be, but better late than never.
We’re fucking here.
We made it.
As she draws closer to the altar, escorted by her brother Charles, my heart thumps harder and harder in my chest.
My gaze dips to her stomach. It’s flat behind the lacy fabric, but there’s new life inside of it. She doesn’t know yet, though. I’ve never been more excited and impatient for anything in my life. To be a father.
I hope it’s a girl.
What can I say, I crave the praise of women. And there’s no one who’ll praise me more than my own daughter.
When the love of my life is finally in front of me, tears are on the brink of spilling from her eyes. She cries when she’s happy. “Hi.”
Resplendent. Mine. Forever.“Hi.”
“We’re here.”
I love you. I love you. I fucking love you.“We are.”
“Am I crazy for making you being a pain in my ass official?”
“Didn’t you know?” I take her hands and kiss her knuckles. “Love is madness.”
~
Four years later…
It’s a brightand sunny mid-December day in Turks and Caicos, and I’m the happiest man in the world. Annual vacations became a thing when Lyra joined the family. Every year she arranges a family vacation at this sprawling beach-side villa in Turks and Caicos for the last two weeks of December. And as the Garza brood grows, the more we all look forward to these two weeks.
My twin girls scamper out on the lounge deck and jump up onto their mother’s sun bed, disrupting her attempt at an afternoon nap. “Mommy, can we go play games after dinner tonight with Marc and Tiara at Aunt Lexi and Uncle Trent’s villa?”
“No.” She doesn’t even bother to open her eyes. “Whenever you four get together, someone always end up crying.”
“Because Marc likes to pull our hair and call us ‘bubu.’”
“Then why do you want to play with him?”
The girls exchange looks, as if waiting for the other to supply the answer. Then, “No one will cry this time, Mommy, we promise.”
