Page 129 of Beautifully Messy
Anna freezes. I study his expression and catch the mirth in his eyes, the mock sternness.
“I heard the tickle monster’s on his way to make sure she yells even louder!” And the grin finally breaks as he runs toward her, tickling her belly. She squeals with delight, thrashing. He looks over at me with a smile a mile wide.
“I heard Mama wants to be tickled, Bug. Let’s get her.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I step away, but he’s already there, throwing me over his shoulder and adding me to the pile on the bed. They both attack me, and I gasp between fits of laughter. It’s not long before that damn snort escapes.
“I love that sound.” He smiles, and the tickling finally relents. We lie there tangled together, breathing in our new reality.
“What should we do today?” I look between their expectant faces.
Anna tilts her head and says, “Cookies!”
I laugh. A light, carefree sound I barely recognize as my own. Of course, she wants a cookie. Because for her, life is simple. She has what I never did. A childhood wrapped in love and warmth, in comfort and safety, and yes, in cookies. The childhood I’ve dreamed of giving her.
The three of us lie there, hand in hand, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. Our family—not perfect or conventional—but ours. The one we found and fought for. The one we’ll claim every day for the rest of our lives.
Through laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, we’ll build something real.
Something beautifully messy.
Just like us.
2024: Epilogue
James’s Perspective
We’rehereagain,pullinginto the Wallis family cabin driveway, greeted by the snow-covered peaks and ice sparkling between the logs.
Only this time, the right woman is beside me.
I bring Sydney’s hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her warm skin as I take her in. She’s breathtaking—the way her brown hair grazes her chin, cut shorter like that New Year’s, the soft lines at the corners of her eyes she complains about, but I adore. The full lips I can never resist. I promised always to worship her, and it’s a promise I plan to keep.
This place witnessed our love—the stolen glances, the heartbreaks, and finally, the year that changed everything.
If it hadn't been for these walls, for what we fought through, I don't know if we'd be here. If I'd walked away, made the easy choice, I'm certain we'd both be miserable.
Instead, we're here. Together.
There’s a weariness in Sydney's face, waves of anxiety rolling off her with every finger tap against her thigh, each slow, exaggerated breath. We’re dropping Anna off to spend Christmas with her dad and his family. It’s the first Christmas they won’t be together.
“Ready?” I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Sitting here won’t make it any easier.” She swipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “You ready, Bug?”
I reach back to unbuckle Anna and give her a high five. “Merry Christmas, kiddo. We’ll see you in two days. Get ready for more presents and ice skating!”
“Will we go back home then?” Instead of high-fiving, she grabs my hand and squeezes. Her big eyes, so similar to her mom’s, are glassy with unshed tears.
This kid is a champ, navigating her changing world with more resilience than any four-year-old should ever need.
“Yeah, Bug, we’ll go home then.”
She climbs into the front of the car, wraps her arms around me, and says, “Love you, Daddy J.”
I squeeze her back. It never gets old hearing her call me that. She might not be mine by blood, but I love this little girl with everything I have.
After leaving Vermont, we didn’t waste time. I relocated to D.C. while Sydney and Mason finalized the divorce. Once that was settled, we realized city life didn’t suit us, and we moved close to my mom in the suburbs of Rochester. Quiet streets and open fields, trails for running, space for Anna to play—everything that felt right for us.
