Page 229 of Becoming Us

And finally—finally—feel like I was good enough.

This was enough.

I am enough.

A quiet breath eased from my lungs, like the final thread of the past loosening its hold.

BONUS EPILOGUE

Atty

Some Years Later

It was freezing.

I stared out the window, watching the snow fall softly on the other side of the glass. The view was simple but beautiful—pine trees dusted in white, a wooden fence strung with lights that had struggled to shine through the downpour. But Noah had been right—nothing compared to a white Christmas.

This wasn’t our first one. Not even our second or third. For years, we had packed up and rented a little cottage in a small town where Christmas felt monumental, where people gathered in clusters to sing carols in the streets. Noah had always made time for it—for us.

The band and the tours had been slowing down recently. In light of everything that had happened, it was inevitable. We had been talking with them about postponing the next tour, about shifting to something quieter, more stable. Travel had alwaysbeen tough, but when we added in the new variables, it became overwhelming.

The scent of coffee filled the house. I moved through the motions—pouring two mugs, carrying them back to the room—until I stopped short at the door.

Morning took its time in winter, but the lamp on my nightstand was already on, casting a soft amber glow across the bed. Over Noah’s sleeping form. Over the two little boys curled into his sides—one with his cheek on his chest, the other half-wrapped around his arm.

Elio and Jude. Our kids.

How surreal was that?

I leaned against the doorframe and just stood there, watching them. I knew they would go full gremlin the moment those little eyes blinked open, but right then? Right then, they looked like angels.

Angels who had absolutely refused to sleep the night before.

Jude had been out with his grandmother, and by the time he came back, the damage had been done—face smeared with chocolate and a late afternoon nap that sealed our fate. As for Elio, he was just two months shy of turning two and completely, hopelessly attached to Noah. He couldn’t sleep unless it was in his arms—or, in this case, across his chest.

Noah never complained. Not once. Not even when the exhaustion showed in the dark circles under his eyes, or when the pressure of juggling the band and family life threatened to take over. Every time Elio raised his hands and said “Da-da,” he was scooped up without hesitation. Kissed all over his chubby cheeks. Loved.

Watching him become a parent was breathtaking. I knew exactly where it came from—those old wounds he carried, the scars of growing up never feeling like he was enough. He was determined to rewrite that story for our kids, to make surethey never questioned whether they were loved, not even for a second. I saw it in the way doubt flickered across his face during a tantrum, in the way his eyes welled up when he had to walk away from two teary toddlers clinging to his legs. He was healing something in himself every time he showed up for them—and he never stopped trying to do better.

He never stopped growing.

Even when parenting brought new friction with his mom—when it dug up layers of pain he thought he’d already faced—he kept going. And in those moments, I realized it wasn’t just about giving our kids the childhood he never had. It was about proving to himself that he could break the cycle. That love, real love, didn’t have to hurt.

My own job gave us flexibility. I could work from home, which had helped us a lot after we graduated.

The first few years were hectic. Chaos. Meetings, shows, rehearsals. Late nights and last-minute flights. It felt endless. But somehow, we made it work. Especially when it came to us.

After a year of remote work with a software company—and with Noah’s support and financial wisdom—I quit and launched my own. It took off more than I had expected. It wasn’t a one-man show anymore, but it still lit a fire in me every morning. Solving problems, delegating, building something that was mine.

Volleyball became my weekend thing. I had played on and off for years, but now, with Jude…Elio mostly just stole the ball, but Jude was starting to really get into it. Sharing the sport I loved with my son? There was nothing better.

After I proposed and we got married—though the gap between those two took longer than we had planned, thanks to our schedules—we finally tied the knot in our backyard. Small, simple, and perfect. Then we set off on his sister’s boat for our honeymoon, drifting along the Mediterranean.

Our life felt like a fairytale.

Only one thing had been missing—the little pieces that would complete our family. Jude and Elio. It had been nonnegotiable for both of us. We had wanted kids.

Getting them, though, had been its own kind of battle. A million hoops, endless paperwork, soaring excitement followed by devastating letdowns, and the persistent anxiety tied to waiting for news.