Page 72 of My Dearest Mackenzie

I didn’t.

Except here I was, with photos of Milly and Jimmy set on a table behind Spencer, staring back at Frances and me. I knew my newfound forever was because of the older couple and for them too. They never had this—two people in love, no holds barred, nothing between them, differing backgrounds and opinions appreciated while a new future was in bloom.

All you had to do was ask Frances about my suggesting she sell women’s clothing rather than men’s and the fight that ensued. I didn’t like sharing her with other men, but that wasn’t my choice. Apparently Frances was never quitting her job and it was part of the fabric of our lives.

Although I hoped she might be taking some time off soon…

Five months later

“One more push,” the doctor said, and my tiny wife growled.

“I can’t…”

“Let’s fucking go,” I half whisper-shouted. Yes, it was stupid of me to say, and I knew it before Frances gave me a death stare and squeezed my hand hard enough to send shivers through my whole body. I did that a lot, said stupid shit.

“I’m going to punch you.”

“You promised not to, in our vows,” I reminded her.

“Let’s fucking go. You push a baby out of your body,” she said through gritted teeth and did as the doctor said—pushed.

Frances was not letting up. This was going to be the last push if she had anything to do with it. And I knew my wife. She got what she wanted.

We’d realized we were pregnant about two months before the wedding. Frances had missed a period and without my knowing went to the doctor. Panicked over bad omens and her ex, she kept the results to herself for two weeks until I dragged it out of her, after she was acting strange at kickboxing.

Originally, she’d fallen asleep during her beloved spy show, and that was my first clue. Then she’d requested an egg salad sandwich on sourdough with extra pickles. It was an order I’d never heard her make, and my second tip-off. Then came the teary-eyed look at kickboxing… It was the exact opposite of no-holds-barred Frankie.

Of course, she didn’t want to say a thing to anyone about the pregnancy, and I agreed. After what happened way back when, she was in charge of how we handled everything.

We hid the pregnancy through our honeymoon in Grand Cayman, and then as long as we could. Without my asking, Frances took the last three months off work.

Of course, Susie gave her a snide comment about it, remarking, “Oh really? Already letting my nephew take care of you…” and I hadn’t spoken to her since. Tom called a few times with business ideas, and Corey was instructed to take a message.

At close to forty, Frances felt this was her last chance, and she wanted this baby more than she even let me see. She would do anything to protect the fragile soul inside her—in a way my mother never could.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” I said.

With those words, my wife gave one more giant grunt that could have rivaled any bear in nature. James Rose Miller was born at a few minutes after two in the morning. With a ton of blond hair and rosy cheeks like her namesake, my daughter, Jamie, had a set of lungs on her.

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