Epilogue
[20 years later]
I stand in the lush courtyard of the Knight Estate, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. The air is thick with the scent of blooming roses and freshly cut grass, a heady mixture that never fails to remind of ho. My eyes are fixed on our youngest daughter, Zelda, as she gleefully splashes in a muddy puddle near the ornate fountain.
At four years old, Zelda is a whirlwind of energy and curiosity. Her short blonde hair, so much like Erica’s, is matted with mud, sticking up in all directions. Her hazel eyes, a mirror of my own, sparkle with unbridled joy as she scoops up handfuls of mud, letting it squish between her tiny fingers before flinging it into the air with a delighted squeal.
I can’t help but smile as I watch her, my heart swelling with a love so intense it almost hurts. Zelda is our sixth daughter, the baby of our family, and the only one Erica allowed to na.
Erica stands beside , her presence as commanding and comforting as ever. Even after two decades of marriage, she still takes my breath away. She’s dressed casually in tailored slacks and a crisp white blouse, but she exudes an aura of authority that never diminishes.
I feel her eyes on before she speaks. “She really loves the mud, doesn’t she?” Erica says, her tone a mixture of annoyance and begrudging amusent.
I turn to face her, drinking in the sight of my wife. “Yeah,” I reply, unable to keep the fondness out of my voice. “She’s definitely not afraid to get her hands dirty.”
Erica steps behind , wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling close against her. The warmth of her body seeps through my clothes, a comforting presence that still sends a thrill through after all these years. She rests her chin in the crook between my neck and shoulder.
“You know,” she whispers, her voice low and tempting, “if we give Zelda to Alia for a while, we could head back downstairs.”
I can feel the smile in her voice, the unspoken promise of what awaits us in our private sanctuary. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I hesitate.
“We spent all of yesterday and the day before down there,” I protest weakly, even as I lean back into her embrace. “I don’t want our daughters to forget us.”
Erica’s laugh is rich and warm, vibrating through her chest and into my back. Her arms tighten around , possessive and reassuring all at once.
“Oh, honey,” she says, amusent coloring her tone. “Our kids are the only ones in their entire school with a father who lives exclusively with them. Trust , they’re not going to forget us anyti soon.”
I furrow my brow, turning my head slightly to catch a glimpse of her face. “Is that really true?”
“Yeah,” Erica says, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “The gender imbalance has only gotten worse over the years. There are even fewer n now than when we first t.”
I turn in her arms, my eyes widening with surprise. “Wow, that’s... that’s going to be a huge issue for society, isn’t it?”
Erica laughs, but there’s a hard edge to it that I’ve co to recognize over the years. “I guess it could be,” she says with a shrug, “but honestly, it’s not our problem.”
I chuckle, shaking my head slightly. “True,” I agree, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt at the thought. It’s monts like these that remind how sheltered my life really is.
Suddenly, our peaceful mont is interrupted by the sound of running footsteps. Hope, now a beautiful young woman of 20, cos sprinting across the lawn. Her long blonde hair streams behind her as she races towards Zelda, who has wandered back to the muddy puddle.
“Dad!” Hope calls out, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Zelda’s eating mud again!”
I watch as Hope gently but firmly pulls Zelda’s mud-covered hand away from her mouth. Zelda looks up at her older sister with wide, innocent eyes, her lower lip quivering slightly as if she’s about to cry.
I can’t help but laugh at the scene. “She really does love eating mud, doesn’t she?” I say, my voice filled with fond amusent.
Hope looks over at us, rolling her eyes. “It’s not funny, Dad,” she says, but I can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “She could get sick.”
As Hope fusses over Zelda, wiping the mud from her face with the hem of her shirt, I feel Erica stiffen beside . I glance at her, curious about her reaction, and I’m startled by what I see.
Erica’s gaze is fixed on Hope, but her eyes are oddly empty, devoid of the warmth I usually see when she looks at our children. It’s a look I’ve noticed a thousand tis before, but only in fleeting monts, gone so quickly I could almost convince myself I’d imagined it.
Suddenly, we’re approached by a girl from behind us. She seems to be around Hope’s age, with fiery red hair cascading down her back in loose waves and striking hazel eyes that seem to sparkle with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.
“Uhhhh, hello,” she says hesitantly, her voice quavering slightly. “My na is Olivia Tucker.”
Before I can even process what’s happening, Erica moves with lightning speed, positioning herself between and this newcor. Her body tenses, coiled like a spring ready to unleash at any mont. I can feel the change in the air, the sudden crackle of tension that emanates from my wife.
“Who the fuck are you?” Erica demands, her voice low and dangerous. Her blue eyes, usually so warm when looking at , have turned to ice as they bore into Olivia. The girl visibly flinches, taking a small step back.
Hope, who’s been watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, quickly walks over, still holding Zelda’s muddy hand. She gently passes my youngest daughter to , her movents careful and deliberate as if trying not to startle a wild animal.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Erica,” Hope says, her voice taking on a formal tone she only takes on when addressing Erica. “She’s my friend. I was going to introduce her, but I got nervous about Zelda eating mud.”
Hope’s words trail off as Erica’s gaze snaps to her. For a mont, I see sothing flicker in Erica’s eyes, a flash of that sa emptiness I’d noticed earlier. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by a mixture of irritation and barely contained fury.
“And you thought it was a good idea to bring a stranger onto our property without warning?” Erica’s voice is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of hatred that makes even nervous.
Hope sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m sorry, Aunt Erica. I should have been clearer. I actually got the okay from Alia to bring Olivia over.”
Erica’s jaw clenches. Her eyes narrow as she glances towards the house, no doubt ntally cataloging this transgression to discuss with Alia later. After a mont, she turns back to Olivia, her posture relaxing marginally, though the tension still radiates off her in waves.
“Well, hello then, I guess,” Erica says, her tone clipped and barely civil.
I give Olivia an awkward wave, trying to diffuse so of the tension. “Hi. Welco to our ho.”
Before anyone can say anything else, Zelda suddenly squirms out of my arms, her little feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. She toddles over to Olivia, arms outstretched, a bright smile lighting up her mud-streaked face.
“Hello, sister!” Zelda exclaims joyfully, wrapping her arms around Olivia’s legs in a tight hug.
Olivia looks down at the child clinging to her, a mixture of surprise and amusent crossing her features. She hesitantly pats Zelda’s head, careful to avoid the muddiest parts of her hair.
Hope quickly steps forward, gently prying Zelda away from Olivia. “I’m so sorry. Zelda hasn’t started preschool yet, so she thinks everyone is family.”
Zelda pouts, her lower lip trembling as she looks up at Hope. “No!” she protests vehently, pointing at Olivia. “She looks like Daddy! She’s family!”
Olivia’s eyes widen at Zelda’s words, a mix of emotions flashing across her face. She bends down slowly, bringing herself to eye level with the mud-covered child. Her voice is soft, tinged with a hint of sadness.
“Oh, sweetie,” Olivia says gently, her hazel eyes shimring with unshed tears. “That’s not possible. Unlike you girls, I never got to et my dad.”
The words hang heavy in the air, casting a somber mood over the previously tense atmosphere.
But then, the back door of the mansion swings open with a loud creak, shattering the mont. Out stumbles Mom, her movents unsteady and her eyes slightly unfocused. She’s wearing a casual shirt that loudly proclaims ‘Not the step-grandma, but the grandma that stepped up’ in bold, slightly crooked letters.
Mom’s entrance is accompanied by the strong scent of whiskey that wafts across the lawn. Her grey and brown hair is disheveled, sticking up at odd angles as if she’s just woken up from a nap. She’s mumbling sothing under her breath, her words slurred but growing clearer as she approaches.
“Grandkids,” she chants, her voice growing louder with each repetition. “Grandkids, grandkids, grandkids!”
Her eyes, bleary but determined, scan the group assembled on the lawn. When they land on Zelda, still covered in mud and looking confused by the sudden appearance of her grandmother, Mom’s face lights up with a broad, slightly lopsided grin.
“There’s my girl!” Mom exclaims, swooping down to scoop Zelda into her arms. She spins around, mud flying off Zelda’s clothes and splattering across the pristine lawn. Zelda squeals with delight, her earlier confusion forgotten in the joy of her grandmother’s embrace.
Mom cos to a stop, swaying slightly as she regains her balance. She looks around at the group, her smile never faltering despite the mix of concerned and exasperated expressions facing her.
“Hey, kids!” she says cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air. Her gaze lands on Olivia, and for a mont, there’s a flash of confusion in her eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by the sa warm, welcoming smile. “And who’s this new face?”
The situation has shifted so quickly that everyone seems montarily stunned into silence. Hope is the first to recover, stepping forward with a nervous laugh.
“Grandma Emily, this is my friend Olivia,” she says, gesturing towards the redhead. “She’s just visiting for the day.”
Mom laughs a loud, hearty sound that echoes across the lawn. “Well, I’ll be,” she says, her words slightly slurred. “I’m surprised Erica was willing to let a stranger anywhere near my boy. She usually keeps Jason under lock and key!”
Erica’s jaw tightens, her blue eyes flashing with barely contained irritation. “It wasn’t up to . Apparently, Alia gave Hope permission.”
Hope shifts uncomfortably, avoiding her aunt’s piercing gaze.
Zelda, still nestled in Mom’s arms, wrinkles her nose and looks up at her grandmother with wide, curious eyes. “Grandma,” she asks innocently, “why do you sll funny?”
The question hangs in the air for a mont, heavy with implications. Mom looks down at Zelda, her eyes softening with affection despite the slight sway in her stance. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, “that’s because Vivian fell asleep during fun hour. Now I want to play with my favorite grandkids!”
I step forward quickly, my voice gentle but firm. “Co on, Mom,” I say, reaching out to take Zelda from her arms. “Don’t say it like that.”
As I lift Zelda, I catch a whiff of the whiskey on Mom’s breath. Erica moves closer, her hand coming to rest possessively on the small of my back. I can feel the tension radiating from her body, a stark contrast to the forced smile on her face.
Erica’s eyes soften as she looks at and Zelda, still covered in mud but giggling in my arms. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips, replacing the tension that had been there monts before.
“Co on, you two,” she says, her voice warm and filled with affection. “Let’s go give Zelda a bath, and then she can show Daddy how good she is at Peach Party.”
At the ntion of Peach Party, both Zelda and I light up. The gas have been a favorite in our household for years.
“You’ve been showing her how to play?” I ask Erica, surprise and delight evident in my voice.
Erica shakes her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Nope,” she says simply.
I turn back to the group still gathered on the lawn, waving with my free arm. “It was nice to et you, Olivia,” I call out.
Olivia waves back, a small smile on her face. “You too.”
As I turn away, Zelda nestled in my arms and Erica’s hand warm on my back, I hear Hope’s voice drift across the lawn.
“Wow, Olivia, you really do kinda look like my dad. That’s funny.”
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