Page 122 of Perfect Alpha

He has a point.

Rather than try to wrap a tricycle Aidan would immediately want to ride around the house, banging into walls and squealing with glee, I asked Victory to make a giant bow for the handlebars. The bow remains in place even though Aidan’s little toddler butt is on the seat as he pedals furiously.

“All right, fine,” I agree. “I’ll let you off on a technicality.”

“What techcaly?” Aidan asks, with a frown.

Victory laughs. “Come sit with me, buddy,” she encourages. “We have a special present I want you to open right away.”

Nothing in the world will stop me from capturing this moment forever. I set the camera on a tripod because I don’t trust my shaking hands.

Victory scoops Aidan into her arms and settles him onto her lap, kissing him on top of his head.

“Don’t forget the intro,” I remind her, as I hit the record button.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Hi, future kids and anyone else who’s watching. It is Christmas morning, and Cade and I are about to give Aidan a very special present.” She smiles, and I’m brought to my knees.

Swallowing hard, I head over to the tree and get a large box that I set on the couch beside them.

“Are you excited, buddy?” I ask.

Aidan nods, but he looks uncertain. Even a toddler can pick up on the anxiety and hopeful anticipation in the room.

I sit on the floor in front of them and wait patiently while Aidan tentatively tears the paper away from the box.

His clumsy, chubby fingers have a hard time opening it, but when I try to help him, he insists that he wants to do it all by himself. He eventually gets the lid off, and then he examines the pristine brown teddy bear with a red bow tie and the same fur texture as a labradoodle.

“New bear?” he asks, clearly wondering what all the pomp and circumstance was for. A bike is a lot more exciting than a bear.

“Squeeze his tummy,” Victory whispers, and tears are already streaming down her cheeks.

This incredible woman walking back into our lives and staying with us is an answered prayer, and I couldn’t even pretend to be unaffected when she posed this gift idea to me.

He obediently squeezes the bear’s tummy, and Hannah’s voice flies into the room. “I love you, Aidan.”

Aidan’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. “Mama! Mamainbear! Mama! Love you! Love you! Mama!”

He squeezes the bear’s tummy again, and Hannah says, “Nothing matters more to me than my sweet little boy.”

Aidan gasps, and while I want to reach for him, I need to give him time to process his gift. Victory and I poured over all our saved voice messages and videos to find clear clips of Hannah’s voice to put on the recorder inside the bear’s tummy.

Thankfully, Hannah loved home movies. She insisted on them at every gathering, holiday, and just because she felt like it, despite my groaning protests. I’m so grateful for all the captured moments now.

I’ve learned the first memory people lose is the sound of their loved one’s voice. Victory had determination all over her gorgeous face when she said, “Cade, I willnotallow Aidan to forget how it sounds to hear Hannah say she loves him.”

Aidan squeezes the bear as if his life depends on it, and the voice clips play one after the other.

“Do you like it, buddy?” I manage, through my aching throat.

“No more presents,” Aidan says solemnly. “Only Mama Bear.”

Aidan has reverted to sucking his thumb, and he’s doing it now while he uses the other hand to press the bear’s tummy over and over. “Mama liked banana pancakes.”

His correct use of the past tense makes my heart ache. “Yes, she sure did, buddy.”

“I’ll go make us some to bring over to my parents’ house. I’ll even add some chocolate chips to yours,” Victory promises. “We’ll wear our pajamas all day as an extra special treat.”

Aidan throws himself onto my lap and continues pressing the bear’s tummy repeatedly. I scoop him up and pace the hallway while Victory starts breakfast, the sound of Hannah’s voice filling the house.

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