Chapter 10
Leo’s first birthday came on a bright, sunny day in June. Exactly one year to the day he was born. Exactly one year to the day Ethan died.
We’d planned a small party, just the four of us—well, five, counting Max. We decorated the backyard with blue and yellow balloons, hung a banner that said Happy 1st Birthday Leo!, and made a cake with daisies piped all over the sides.
Richard had spent a month building Leo a wooden playhouse, complete with a little slide and a window box full of flowers. It sat in the middle of the yard, the name Leo’s Clubhouse carved above the door.
Leo spent the morning crawling around the yard, chasing Max, pulling at the balloons, covered in cake and frosting. He’d just learned to walk a week before, wobbly but determined, and he spent most of the day toddling between the three of us, falling down and laughing, getting right back up again.
When the sun started to go down, we packed up the cake leftovers, wiped Leo’s face clean, and got in the car.
We were going to the cemetery.
It was our first time there since Tyler. The grass was green, the flowers in bloom, the air soft and warm. Richard carried Leo, who was half-asleep, his head on Richard’s shoulder, clutching his favorite stuffed rabbit. Lila carried a big bouquet of daisies. I carried a framed photo—Leo’s first birthday picture, him covered in cake, grinning that dimply grin.
We stood in front of Ethan’s headstone. The daisies we’d left the last time were still there, dried but still bright.
Richard shifted Leo, holding him so he was facing the stone. Leo stirred, blinking sleepily, and patted the cold stone with his tiny hand.
“Da,” he babbled, his voice soft and clear.
We all froze.
Leo had said Mama and Dada before, to all of us, randomly. But this time, it felt different. Like he knew. Like he could feel his dad there, right beside us.
Richard’s eyes filled with tears. He kissed the top of Leo’s head.
“Yeah, kiddo,” he whispered. “That’s your dad. He loves you so much. More than anything.”
Lila stepped forward, laying the daisies at the base of the stone. She ran a finger over Ethan’s name, carved into the granite.
“Happy birthday, Leo,” she said, her voice soft, like she was talking to both of them. “And happy first birthday in heaven, Ethan. We miss you every single day. But we’re okay. We’re all okay. Because of you.”
I set the framed photo down next to the daisies, propping it against the stone so Ethan could see his son’s smiling face.
We stood there for a long time, quiet, holding each other, watching the sun set over the trees, painting the sky pink and orange.
When we got back in the car, Leo was fast asleep, his thumb in his mouth. We drove home slowly, the radio playing soft, the streets quiet.
We carried Leo up to his room, lowering him into the wooden crib Richard had made him. He stirred once, smiled in his sleep, then went back to dreaming. Max curled up on the rug beside the crib, his head on his paws, keeping watch.
We walked out to the front porch, sitting on the old swing Richard had hung there the week before. He put his arm around me, and Lila sat on my other side, leaning her head on my shoulder.
We sat there for a long time, watching the stars come out.
A year before, I’d thought my life was over. I’d thought I’d never be happy again, never laugh again, never feel whole without Ethan.
But here we were.
Richard, my husband, who’d learned that love was more important than pride, who’d fought for us, who’d become the best man I’d ever known.
Lila, my daughter, brave and kind and talented, who’d given us the greatest gift we could ever ask for.
Leo, our miracle, our little piece of Ethan, who’d healed all our broken hearts just by being here.
We weren’t the same family we’d been a year before. We’d lost so much. We’d grieved so hard. But we’d gained so much too. We’d built something new, something stronger, something full of love and second chances.
Justice had been served. Tyler was in prison, where he belonged. Richard had made amends, had owned his mistakes, had become the father and grandfather he was always meant to be. Lila was safe, and loved, and confident, building a life for herself and her son.
And me? I was whole again.
I looked at my family, sitting there on the swing, the warm night air around us, the sound of Leo’s soft breathing drifting through the open window.
I smiled.
Ethan was right there with us. In Leo’s eyes. In Lila’s laugh. In the way Richard’s hand felt in mine.
He’d never really left.
And we’d never be alone again.
The porch swing creaked softly, back and forth, under the stars.
May you like
Somewhere, a daisy bloomed.
And everything was exactly as it was meant to be.
