Page 19 of Hampton Holiday Collective

Fielding is blaming himself for Wesley’s illness.

Usually, he takes life in stride. But every now and then, the slightest hiccup will trigger his impostor syndrome and send him spiraling.

I learned long ago that Fielding does nothing by halves—including processing his own emotions. So instead of trying to reassure him—again—I make a last-ditch effort to get through to him by reframing the situation.

“You’re going to fuck up again,” I whisper.

His hand freezes where it rests on Wesley’s chest, and his eyes dart up to meet mine, burning a fiery blue in outrage.

Before he can open his mouth, I continue. “Remember when you let Winnie play beauty shop because she wanted to be like mommy, then she cut off all her bangs?”

His mouth thins into a scowl.

“Or that time Wyatt convinced you to let him ride Wesley’s electric scooter by himself, and he crashed it into a tree? He needed four stitches after that incident.”

Fielding’s brows furrow so intensely that, for one millisecond, I swear it’s Dempsey lying beside me instead of my husband.

“Head injuries bleed a lot. The stitches were really just for cosmetic reasons,” he meekly defends.

“Remember when Wesley was a baby, and you were holding him during dinner, and you accidentally dropped a meatball on his eye?”

His pupils narrow to pinpoints, fury flaring behind his gaze, and the slightest huff of frustration comes from deep in his chest.

“Winnie bumped my elbow at the table. Besides—he was sleeping, and his eyes were closed. He didn’t even cry!”

Wordlessly, I reach across our son’s body and take my husband’s hand. I interlace our fingers, then lift his knuckles to my mouth, giving him a soft, reassuring kiss before settling our joined hands on the pillow above Wesley’s head.

“We’re both going to make mistakes—over and over again.”

Fielding regards me, his eyes finally softening to that lagoon blue I adore, and he visibly swallows past his insecurities.

“But you care so deeply. And you’re so concerned about getting this right and being the best parent and role model you can be for our children.Thatis what makes you an amazing father.”

I smile at Wesley between us, then turn to my husband. “You were made for this, Fielding Haas. You were made to love these kids. There’s nothing you could ever do that would permanently mess this up. But you have to forgive yourself when you don’t get it right. You have to give yourself the same understanding and grace that you give everyone around you.”

He’s silent for several minutes. Nothing but the sounds of Wesley’s breathing fill the space between us.

Finally, in a voice filled with trepidation and emotion, he asks, “And when I fuck up again?”

“When you fuck up again, I’ll be right here. Lifting you up. Reminding you that it’s okay. Just like I know you’ll do for me.”

Nodding, he snuggles closer to Wesley, kissing our son’s head, then my hand.

“I don’t want to let you down, angel. I don’t want to fuck anything up when it comes to our kids.”

“The only way you could fuck anything up is if you gave up. Our worst parenting mistakes and all the wrong calls we’re bound to make over the next two decades amount to nothing compared to the way you love our family so well.”

His body stills, my words heavy between us.

Finally, his signature smile graces his face, and once again, all is right in our world.

“How did I get so damn lucky that I get to do life with you?”

“Daddy said a bad word,” Wesley pipes up between us before turning to his side, letting out a drawn-out yawn, and immediately dozing off again.

I stifle my laughter with one hand, eyeing Fielding while he pets Wesley’s head and gazes down at our son.

“Daddy can’t help it,” I whisper, waiting for my husband to meet my gaze before I add, “he only knows how to love full out.”