Chapter 13: Our Forever
834 Words
Year 2.
Zara was one.
And she was trouble.
She walked.
She ran.
She climbed.
Ayaan Blackwell, CEO of 12 companies…
Couldn’t keep up.
“She’s faster than me,” he said. Breathless.
“Because she’s a Blackwell,” I said.
He stopped.
Looked at me.
Smiled.
“You’re right.”
Month 13.
First words.
Not “mama.”
Not “dada.”
“No.”
Ayaan laughed.
Loud.
For real.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
“Stubborn like her mother.”
Month 14.
We went to the beach.
First time.
Just us.
No suit.
No phone.
No security.
Zara ran into the waves.
Screaming.
Happy.
Ayaan ran after her.
Fell.
Sand in his hair.
She clapped.
He laughed harder.
I took a photo.
It’s our lockscreen now.
Month 15.
Aarav graduated.
Cancer-free.
Strong.
Black gown.
Big smile.
We cried.
All three of us.
Ayaan shook his hand.
“Proud of you,” he said.
“Son.”
Aarav hugged him.
Hard.
Long.
Month 16.
I was sick.
Morning sick.
Two lines.
Pink.
Ayaan saw it.
Went still.
Then he picked me up.
Carried me to bed.
“Two?” he whispered.
Hand on my stomach.
“Twins,” I said.
He sat down. Hard.
“Twins,” he repeated.
Like a battle plan.
Then he smiled.
Terrifying. Happy.
“I’m outnumbered,” he said.
Month 17.
Evelyn moved in.
“To help,” she said.
“Or to lose her mind with you.”
She bought everything.
Double.
Double cribs.
Double bottles.
Double chaos.
Month 18.
Leo and Max came.
Early.
Small.
Loud.
NICU for 10 days.
Ayaan didn’t leave.
He slept in a chair.
When we came home,
He carried both.
One in each arm.
“Meet your brothers,” he told Zara.
She touched their heads.
Gentle.
“My babies,” she said.
Month 19.
No sleep.
No silence.
No peace.
Just crying.
Milk.
Diapers.
Ayaan did 3AM feeds.
Every night.
No complaint.
“You’re tired,” I said.
“I’m home,” he said.
Month 20.
Book 2.
“Kept By The Ruthless CEO.”
#1 in 24 hours.
Fans said,
“It healed me.”
Ayaan read it.
All of it.
At 2AM.
“You wrote me,” he said.
“Not the devil.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Because the devil’s gone.”
Month 21.
Zara’s second birthday.
Books theme.
Ayaan built her a library.
Floor to ceiling.
Her name on the door.
She ran in.
Grabbed a book.
Sat on his lap.
“Read,” she said.
He did.
Badly.
She loved it.
Month 22.
Leo broke a vase.
$20,000.
Antique.
Ayaan looked at it.
At Leo. Crying.
He picked Leo up.
“Are you hurt?”
The vase?
He kicked it aside.
Month 23.
Night.
All three kids asleep.
Ayaan and me.
On the floor.
Coffee. Cold.
“Zara,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Was it worth it?” he asked.
“The contract?”
I looked around.
At our mess.
At our kids.
At him.
“Yes,” I said.
“Because it brought me here.”
He took my hand.
“I’d sign it again,” he said.
“Every time.”
Month 24.
Two years.
No contract.
No 180 days.
No devil.
Just Ayaan.
Just me.
Just Zara. Leo. Max.
Just home.
Night.
All five in bed.
Big bed.
Crowded.
Perfect.
Ayaan’s arm around me.
“Forever?” he whispered.
“Forever,” I said.
The contract burned.
The love stayed.
Month 25.
Zara started preschool.
Crying.
Hers.
And mine.
Ayaan dropped her off.
He didn’t leave.
He sat in the car.
For 2 hours.
Watching the door.
“Hardest thing I’ve done,” he said at night.
“Harder than firing 500 people.”
Month 26.
Leo said “da” first.
Max said “ma.”
Zara said, “Finally.”
Ayaan framed both words.
On the wall.
Next to his CEO awards.
Month 27.
We sold the penthouse.
Too cold.
Too many ghosts.
The house was full.
Toys.
Books.
Noise.
Milk stains.
Ayaan looked around.
“Never sell this,” he said.
“This is home.”
Month 29.
Christmas.
First one.
As a family.
Zara put the star on the tree.
Ayaan held her up.
“Higher,” she giggled.
Leo and Max watched.
Drooling.
Ayaan looked at me.
“Worth it,” he said.
“All of it,” I said.
The contract was ash.
The house was full.
The love was real.
Month 30.
Leo fell.
Scraped his knee.
Crying.
Ayaan ran.
Picked him up.
Bleeding.
“Shh,” he said.
Kissed his head.
“You’re okay, son.”
Leo stopped crying.
Looked at him.
“Da,” he said.
Ayaan froze.
Then smiled.
Wet eyes.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“I’m da.”
Night.
All kids asleep.
Ayaan held my hand.
“No contract,” he said.
“Just family.”
“Just forever,” I said.
The End.
- Writer
