“Caleb—”
“Just one more minute. Let me have this.”
She goes quiet and slides her hand into mine.
I look at her—my wife—and at Bruiser sleeping nearby—my son—and think:This. This is what I’ve been counting toward my whole life without knowing it.
Bruiser wakes up as I’m carrying him inside.
“Is it over?” he mumbles against my shoulder.
“The wedding? Yeah, buddy. It’s over.”
“Did I do good?”
“You did perfect.”
“I didn’t drop the rings.”
“You didn’t.”
He’s quiet for a moment as I carry him upstairs. Harper trails behind us.
Then, soft and sleepy, he mumbles: “Night, Dad.”
I stop on the stairs. Harper crashes into my back.
“What—” she starts.
Bruiser doesn’t even seem to realize what he said. He’s already half-asleep again.
But I heard it.
Dad.
I look back at Harper. Her hand is over her mouth, eyes wide and wet.
“Did he just—” she whispers.
I nod, throat too thick to answer.
I carry Bruiser to his room and tuck him in. He’s out before his head hits the pillow.
In the hallway, Harper wraps her arms around me from behind.
“He called you Dad,” she whispers.
“He did.”
“Caleb—”
I turn, pull her close, and bury my face in her hair.
“I know,” I say again. “I know.”
We stand there in the dark hallway, holding each other. Bruiser sleeping in one room. Our room waiting down the hall.
This life we built.