Page 101 of Imperfection is Beauty

No, seeing him as he held our twin set of boys, now that, that was a perfect vision.

And well… since Marcus and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other, not only did I give birth to twin boys, but their Irish twin, a girl this time was born exactly eleven months after they were.

And… well… we got yelled at by the doctor because all of our kids were exactly eleven months apart as we welcomed our baby girl into the world.

I was standing in the middle of the Neonatal room as the sports commentator went over the game yesterday. And every time they showed the sack that Marcus had delivered that earned him Most Valuable Player, I felt my ovaries go haywire.

Marcus and I had talked. We both agreed that four kids were enough. It was perfect, so not only did I get my tubes tied, but he had a vasectomy.

And I swear, had Marcus not been knocked up with drugs when Culpepper showed up with some meals for us, he would have been eating through a straw.

The dumbass thought it would have been funny to say that now if he cheated on me, no woman could claim that she had gotten pregnant by Marcus.

Thankfully, Van had no drugs in his system and didn’t hesitate to lay Culpepper out. Cold.

I had just looked away from the screen and to one of the other nurses when she asked, “How in the world do you stand it?”

I looked over at Emily and felt my brow raise, “What do you mean?”

“You look like you do, and they look like that? All that temptation, how do you stand it?” I knew she was referring to the women who were at the tunnel throwing themselves at Marcus.

I felt my spine snap straight, and like all women who feel as though they are being pushed into a corner, hand on hip, leg cocked to the side, I said, “Well, I can stand it because he loves me. I can stand it because time and time again if you look closely, he never makes eye contact with any of them, and he never, and I mean he never checks them out. I will pay you a million dollars right now to find a clip or proof of him doing it in the past ten years.”

“You too haven’t been together that long,” she said as she tilted her head to the side.

I smirked, “Shows you don’t know everything. Doesn’t it?”

That was when Novalie poked her head out of her office and then said in that tone that brooked no room for argument, “I think it would be best if you finish the rest of your shift with your mouth firmly shut.”

Emily huffed, “Exc…”

“Emily, what you said was so disrespectful it’s not even funny. She is stunning. Breathtakingly so. And I know Marcus. I know that if he heard you talking about his woman like that, honey, you’d find out just how hard he can knock someone out. I’m just saying. Now, get shut the fuck up and take care of the babies you were assigned to.”

I looked at Novalie and smiled, she winked.

Marcus

Eighteen years later, I pulled my two sons and two daughters to the side and asked them to sit down.

Sebastian was the first to ask, “Is everything okay Dad?”

Shalayah sighed, “I didn’t mean to punch the little butthole, but he wouldn’t stop.”

Shane sighed, “I know. Okay, I know I got a B on my exam, but my professor hates you because you defeated his team in our last game before you retired.”

“We will talk about you punching someone, and the reason why, later,” I told Shalayah.

Even though I already knew the answer why. Some little brat at her school said I was hot and asked if I was looking for any members to make a Mile High Club.

Scarlett and I were so proud of her.

But now wasn’t the case, “I pulled you four out here because I want to tell you a story.”

They loved it when I did this.

And I only did this when Scarlett took her diva power naps, and since they were so rare, they didn’t get this from me often.

“When the time comes, the four of you are going to meet the owner of your other soul. Please, promise me, that if you have that feeling in the deepest parts of you, don’t fucking ignore it. Because there will come a time when you will regret it.” I never wanted our kids to have to go five years without their other half.

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