A Bird in Flight | ✔︎

Epilogue:

Callan
Fifteen years later

I throw my feet up on the coffee table, dragging my fingers through my hair as laughter rolls through the living room window.

A boy with auburn hair and striking emerald eyes pops his head over the windowsill, his face comically serious. "Can you come out and play with me, Dad?"

Nine years old and it's obvious Matthew has inherited most of my genes. "Isn't your sister around?"

Matt sighs and wrinkles his nose in disgust. "She can't even catch the damn ball, Dad."

"Don't say damn, Matthew," Ensley scolds him as she walks into the living room to sit by me.

"Dad says it," Matt argues, shooting me a wide smirk. "And he says other swear words too like shit and f—"

"Enough, Matthew," Ensley snaps, giving me a pointed look which I return with a cocky smile. Old habits die hard. "Your sister might hear."

Amelia, our five-year-old daughter comes toddling in, with her blonde hair curled up around her ears and soft brown eyes huge and innocent. "Matts being mean. He won't let me play."

"Matthew!" Ensley barks at him again before turning to me. "Do you have anything to say or are you just going to sit their grinning like his behaviour is appropriate."

"Watch it, sweetheart," I whisper into her ear, noting the goosebumps that appear on her skin.

She holds her hand out to me and rises to her feet. "Lets come have a quick game."

I take her hand and she tows me out into the backyard, swatting away leaves blowing up into our faces from the forest behind our house.

For a moment, I just watch Matt and Amelia wrestle over the ball, their little hands balled into fists, their cheeks flushed and mouths open in protest. My chest aches for the childhood they have but I would suffer ten times the abuse than let them be tarnished by the darkness that consumed me as a child.

It hurts to admit it but I definitely distanced myself from my children, living with the fear that I could hurt them. When Matt was first born I refused to wear a belt. When I first held him in my arms I had to pass him back to Ensley and spent the next half hour throwing up in the toilet. Four years later when Amelia was born, the nightmares surfaced again, holding me captive in their dark clutches, dragging me down into the dark hole I'd tried so hard to escape from.

There are days when I shrink into myself and I become a shell that even Ensley can't crack open. And then there are days where my heart practically bursts with joy when I take my children to the park and play with them long after the sun sinks over the horizon.

Today is a good day. Today is a day when I accept the notion that my family is all I need to stay happy. I think about Maddox and Sam, now married with three crazy boys: Kane and Timothy, both seven-year-old twins with outgoing personalities. along with the baby wrapped up in a bundle of blankets, Oscar.

I press my lips to Ensleys temple, my arm wrapping around her waist. She saved me in more ways than I could possibly imagine and I love her for that.

I am safe and I am, for the most part, happy, and that is all that matters. Before, we were two birds in flight and now we have finally landed.

Thank you so much for the people who have gotten through to the end of this story. I really appreciate it that people are reading my writing and hope that you liked it.

If anyone is suffering in a similar situation of Callan, please seek help and contact one of the many domestic violence hotlines.

Once again, thank you. At the moment I am writing another book called Playing His Own Game. If you have the time, please give it a try and vote and comment if you enjoy it.