Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 225

Epilogue 2- Nicolai

Seven Months Later

My daughter is born on a Tuesday. She arrives in the early hours-that time before dawn when the sky is still dark blue before dawn. Her name is Mila. And, next to her mother and brother, she is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever

seen.

She announces herself with considerable volume, which tells me everything I need to know about what the next several years will be like, and I look at her-red-faced and furious and entirely herself-and understand something I’ve understood only twice before:

There are people you would do anything for. She is another one.

Skye holds her skin to skin and nurses her before handing her off and drifting to sleep. She’s earned it. She’s earned everything, this woman-every good thing that comes to her for the rest of her life she has earned, and I intend to spend considerable effort making sure it comes to her.

I sit beside her, holding Mila, who has been fed and is now conducting an assessment of her new environment with unfocused eyes that haven’t yet decided what color they’ll be. But she has her mothers dark hair and her button nose, the spitting image of Skye.

“You look like her,” I tell Mila.

Mila appears skeptical, her little nose wrinkling and her mouth screwing up in a displeased scowl.

“You’ll understand eventually,” I explain patiently. “Looking like her is an advantage. She’s remarkable.”

The door opens quietly and Jaxon peeks in. He went to pick up Benji to meet his sister but I can tell he’s hesitant to bring the toddler in with Skye finally getting some rest.

“Come in,” I whisper, just as anxious for our son to meet his new sibling.

He steps through the door with Benji on his hip. Our son takes in the room with an uncertain expression until his gaze lands on Skye-sleeping, deeply-and then on me, and then at the bundle I’m holding.

“Mila,” I tell him. “Your new sister.”

Jaxon carries him across the room and sets him carefully beside me. Benji’s little head peeks over the blanket to get a look at her. He immediately determines he’s unimpressed but Jaxon is a different story.

He stares at her with a starstruck expression-like a man who already has a son so he knows exactly what this particular form of undoing feels like.

“I can’t get over how much she looks like Skye,” he gushes.

“I know.” I coo the words softly bouncing our daughter in my arms to settle her. “She’s perfect, just like her mommy.”

“She’s going to be trouble.”

“I know that too.” I grumble, less enthusiastic about that topic.

He grins at me. “Congratulations,” he offers.

That means more than he knows. Because, like with Benji, we are all Mila’s parents. But he’s acknowledging that, at least biologically, she’s mine. From a man who knows what that feels like, yet is willing to share his son with me, that’s saying a lot.

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“Thank you,” I reply, trusting he’ll understand how much I mean it.

sit for a white in the quiet room-me with Mila, Jaxon with Benji, Skye asleep between us–and I think about what it took to arrive here. The architecture of choices, mine and Skye’s and his, that produced this room on this Tuesday morning.

That evening, Skye is awake with Benji sleeping beside her and Mila attempting to nurse again. I resolve to memorize the sight so I can pull it out in moments when life is far less pleasant. The look on Skye’s face, full of contentment and adoration. My children, completely at peace. The love flowing through our bond. Nothing could be more perfect.

Benji’s been remarkably well-behaved for a one-year-old and Skye wanted him close so we let him stay. His assessment of his sister remains unchanged. She is small and does not do much so largely uninteresting to him

“He’ll change his mind,” Skye remarks, probably sensing the direction of my thoughts in our bond.

“When she starts taking his things?” I guess.

“Around six months, when she starts to get grabby.” Jaxon confirms.

“I give it two weeks after she can reach for things before they’re best friends.” I comment sarcastically.

Skye laughs. It’s tired and genuine, a beautiful sound. I move to sit beside her on the bed. She leans into me with the ease of someone who has been doing this for over a year and has stopped noticing that she does it.

“How do you feel?” I ask.

“Like I grew a person for nine months, shoved her out through a hole that should never stretch to accommodate something that size, and now she’s attached to me on the outside.” She looks down lovingly at the responsible party. “You know, the usual.”

“Is that all?” Jaxon prompts.

She’s quiet for a moment, a smile gracing her features as she considers her answer.

“Happy,” she adds. “Tired. Completely-” She searches for the word. “Full. Like there’s so much joy and love inside me, I couldn’t possibly hold anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” Jaxon says.

She turns to look at me.

“You can admit you do too.” she smirks. “You’ve been doing that very controlled thing where you want to talk about your feelings but haven’t yet.”

“I don’t do a controlled thing.” I argue the point because it’s easier than admitting she’s right.

“You absolutely do a controlled thing.”

She knows me. This is still occasionally startling.

“It’s okay. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.” Jaxon says, taking the heat off me.

But I want to be better. For her, for them. So I can’t let the moment pass.

“Jaxon.”

His head snaps to me, surprised to be the one I address. I consider the phrasing I’ve been considering for months.

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It takes me a minute to find the version that is accurate.

ou’re good for her,” I confess. “You’re good for-“I pause. “For all of us. I want you to know I know that.”

He just stares at me, a gobsmacked look on his face. The moment is longer than I expected.

“Thank you,” his voice cracks on the words. And just like me, he doesn’t need to say more for me to know it’s true.

Later. Much later. Mila is asleep in the bassinet, Skye is asleep again-she’ll be up in two hours for another feeding-and Jaxon and I are awake, watching over them.

“She’s perfect.” He nods to indicate Mila. He says it quietly, looking at her with the expression he has for people who are precious to him.

“Yes,” I agree. “She is.”

We look at each other over Skye’s sleeping form and there it is again-the thing between us that keeps weaving thread between us, knitting us into a family.

I sit in the chair and drink in my family-Skye, Mila, Benji sleeping down the hall but visible on the monitor, and Jaxon-and I do what I do with things I can’t live without.

I hold them. These precious things that are mine.

Miraculously, against all odds, perfectly mine.

Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

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