Page 114 of Breakaway Daddies

Kenzie pats my hand. “Same. Even if I have glitter in places glitter should never be.”

Ally groans in solidarity. “You mean your soul? Because I found glitter in my coffee filter this morning.”

We all laugh again, that easy kind of laugh that only happens when you feel safe. When you know, deep down, you’re surrounded by people who see all of you, the mess, the madness, the magic, and love you anyway.

Across the field, Rowan manages to wrangle a few kids into a snack circle. Thomas is dramatically pretending to faint from hunger. Bruno is now attempting to build a miniature trebuchet from sticks and juice box straws.

And I am here, tired, sticky, milk-stained, mildly concussed from my fall, but overflowing with something fierce and whole and blindingly bright.

Joy.

Love.

Home.

And yeah, maybe I didn’t plan any of this. Maybe life took my roadmap, crumpled it into a tiny paper airplane, and launched it into a vat of glitter and chaos.

But I wouldn’t trade a second of it.

Not for calm.

Not for quiet.

Not for the neat, color-coded life I thought I’d have.

Because this is mine.

And it’s just getting started.

I take another sip of my juice box, smile at the chaos, and whisper to the baby in my belly, “Welcome to the madness, little one. You’re gonna love it here.”

Epilogue

JINX

I smoothmy black wedding dress down over my now slim, blessedly baby-free body and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Three kids in three years,” I mutter to myself, adjusting the lace sleeves and checking the mirror for what feels like the hundredth time. “Y’all are lucky I’m even wearing heels.”

The reflection that stares back at me is mine, but unfamiliar in the best way, stronger, calmer, glowing in a way that has nothing to do with makeup and everything to do with finally, finally feeling like myself again.

The punk-rock therapist turned accidental suburban mom. The woman who swore she’d never do the whole “white picket fence” thing… now marrying three hockey players at once in a converted art gallery under a chandelier made of antlers and fairy lights.

Gothic, dramatic, slightly chaotic… just like us.

“Knock knock.” Ally peeks around the door, already in her bridesmaid dress, a smudge of lip gloss on her cheek, and one of Kenzie’s kids’ glittery stickers stuck to her arm. “You look like a hot Victorian ghost bride. In the best possible way.”

“Perfect.” I smirk, turning slightly. “Exactly what I was going for.”

She steps in and helps fluff the train, then hands me a bouquet wrapped in velvet ribbon and tiny snake charms. Of course.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” she says, misty-eyed. “And in a dress that isn’t covered in snot or spit-up.”

I shoot her a look. “We still have two hours to go. Don’t jinx it.”

Kenzie joins us a second later, slipping into the room with a mimosa in each hand. “Rowan is pacing so hard in the hall that Bruno threatened to sedate him. And Thomas tried to rewrite his vows five minutes ago but got distracted trying to find a rhyme for ‘deliriously horny.’”

I groan. “Of course he did.”

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