Six months later
The ride from the airport felt like forever, when in reality it was only around twenty minutes, but the heat is fucking stifling.
We arrived at Sloane’s aunt’s house around an hour ago. I’ve been giving her space since we got here, because I know it’s hurting her being back in a space she shared with her aunt.
This place is a huge piece of Sloane’s past, and I know that by coming here, it’s her way of moving on into the future.
I head downstairs after putting our things away in Sloane’s room, since she never moved herself into the master once her aunt had passed away, and head through the house, looking for her. When I don’t find her anywhere, I chance a look through the kitchen window and see her sitting on the bench at the bottom of the garden.
Emotion fills me as I realize what she’s doing. She’s sitting on the memorial bench, the bench she always promised that she’d let me visit.
Without overthinking it, I head out and join her.
I approach slowly, not wanting to interrupt, but she must have sensed me coming because she turns around, smiling.
“Come here,” she murmurs, and I take a seat next to her, taking her hand in mine as I take in the view. It’s not much, nothing compared to the view of our spot back in the city, but this is a piece of Sloane and I’ll take any and all pieces of her I can get.
I say it’s not much, but the view of mountains ahead of me is very picturesque. I’m just a New Yorker through and through.
“I used to come out here at night and talk. It was the only thing that got me through the night sometimes,” Sloane says, her hair blowing gently as a breeze passes us.
“You’d talk to the baby?” I ask and she laughs softly.
“Insane, huh? But yeah… sometimes I’d talk to the baby, but mostly, I’d talk to you.” She squeezes my hand and turns to face me, her piercing blue eyes shining with nothing but love.
“You’d talk to me? What would you say?”
She laughs and the sound wraps around me, filling me with gratefulness that she can laugh like that, be free.
It’s been a tough six months, so tough that we both decided it would be good for us to see a therapist about what we’ve been through. I had nightmares every night, the image of Sloane’s body lying in the hospital haunting me, and she has similar ones, of me being resuscitated in the ambulance. But we’re getting there. We’re getting through it, together.
She shrugs. “About my day. About how pissed I was that you never loved me like I did you. About how I wished I could go back to when everything was good in my life.”
“I’ve always loved you, Sloane.”
“I know,” she says simply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Another thing we did in the last six months—as advised by Sloane’s therapist—was sit down together and discuss how we wanted our relationship to be since the last time we were together we were basically kids, forced to love each other in private.
What we realized was that while we both don’t want kids, not only because of what Sloane went through, but because we’re happy with it just being the two of us, we also don’t want marriage, either. We’re happy being how we are, and if that changes in the future, then we can discuss it, but right now, we’re just us.
Luca also announced to the family that him and Izzy wouldn’t be having children, even though it’s more expected of them. But that’s between them, and if they don’t want to have kids just for the sake of producing an heir, then good on them. Since both me and Luca won’t be carrying on the family name, then—God help us all—Enzo’s daughter, or any other children he has, can carry on the family business should they wish to.
Sloane had questions from people at work, asking her if she’s really sure she never wants children because of what she went through, but it doesn’t work like that.
Someone can have a miscarriage and then choose to try and try again. Or they can decide they don’t want children.
Someone can decide straight off that parenthood isn’t for them, and that’s okay.
You can decide you don’t want children and then later down the line change your mind.
That’s the best part of living, being able to make your own choices.
And not everyone needs that whole marriage, children, and a white picket fence to be happy.
Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you can’t be happy if you don’t walk down that aisle.
Happiness looks different on everyone, and for me? Sloane is my happiness, she always has been.
She always will be.
The End.
