“I got hungry,” she whispers back, caressing our noses together, her eyes glazed and amorous.
Another groan filters through my lips when she grinds up against me. “You’re making me hungry.”
I’m about two seconds away from begging Leah to keep an eye on August so I can borrow my wife for highly important reasons when the doorbell rings again, stealing our opportunity. Electricity still crackles between us, green embers dancing in Melody’s eyes, and she lets me know with just a look that these flames will be stoked again later.
Can’t fucking wait.
But first, it’s time to watch my little girl annihilate a Peppa Pig piñata.
The sun sets low in the sky, highlighting the horizon in a burnt orange blush. It captures my attention for a striking moment, and I reminisce my father’s words from all those years ago.
Fleeting beauty.
The most precious kind.
But as my eyes dip away from the setting sun and take in the blur of smiles, laughter, and joy all around me, I realize something pretty fucking powerful.
It’s all fleeting.
Life, itself, is fleeting.
I watch from a lawn chair perched in the front yard as partygoers disperse, scooping my daughter into strong arms, giving her twirls and kisses, thanking Melody for a spectacular party. West snakes his arm around Leah, kissing her temple, and I see the love between them—despite the tumultuous tide of their relationship, there is affection, and there is love. I kind of want to shake them, tell them to get their shit together and appreciate what they have, because it’s all so fucking fleeting, but I think that kind of awareness can only be learned, not taught.
Melody’s parents wave their goodbyes to me from across the yard, and I smile my send-off. They’ve taken me in and treated me like their own damn kid over the past few years, and I couldn’t be more grateful. I was robbed of that kind of relationship, that special brand of connection that only a mother or father can give. It broke me. It whittled me down to near nothingness, shaping me into someone I didn’t even recognize.
Bree did, though. She saw me—the real me, that little boy buried deep down inside, with a cherry-stained chin, laughter in his eyes, and a strong, worthy heart.
“Eat up, little brother.”
My sister pulls a chair up beside mine, handing me a container of miniature lemon loaves. I eye the offering with a half-smile. “Because my wife didn’t bake enough cake to have us all in permanent carb comas?”
Her acorn eyes glimmer with the glow of the red-yellow sundown. “Lemon cake is the happiest dessert,” she says, her teeth flashing white. “Melody texted me to grab some on the way over because she knows it’s your favorite and she burned them. I couldn’t say no to her twenty-seven sad face emojis.”
“She always gets you with the emojis.” Taking the plastic container from her hands, it crinkles in my grip as I rake my gaze over the treats. My heart swells. “Fuck, I don’t know what I did to deserve that woman.”
Bree shrugs, her coiled tendrils of hair bouncing over her shoulders. “It clearly wasn’t your quality baking abilities.”
I cringe. “Yeah, no. Maybe it was my warm and fuzzy disposition.”
“It definitely wasn’t that either.”
“My endearing personality?”
“Highly doubtful.”
We share a playful grin as the mid-March breeze blows by, fresh and cooling.
Bree reaches over to my chair and places her palm across my chest, patting gently. “It was this. She saw what I’ve always seen.”
My heartbeat skips at the sentiment, and my gaze drifts over to where Melody is wrapped in a warm embrace with Ms. Katherine. The two women pull back with tears glinting in their eyes, a testament to their strong bond and compassionate hearts. August dances around them in a princess crown, waving two glow sticks in tiny fists, her face still sticky with bright pink frosting.
A sigh escapes me, something wistful and pure. “Goddamn, I’m lucky…”
Bree’s fingers trail from my heart to my hand, and she gives it a light squeeze. “It’s not luck, Parker. This was all you.”
I swallow, drinking in the scene before me.
“You built this life, just like you built your home—from the ground up, with careful tools, hard work, and a lot of blood, sweat, and tears.” Her arm stretches outward, showcasing the fruits of my labor. “You put this here.”
My chest thunders with enlightenment. I did this. I chose this life for myself—this was what was on the other side for me. This was what was shrouded beyond the hurdles of hardship.
My heart.
My hope.
My real home.
The truth is, I never truly had a home until I had her. I had four walls and a place to lay my head, but no place to lay my heart. I planted roots here, but those roots had nowhere to grow. They were stagnant and shriveling.
Wilting.
My life could have gone in so many other directions. I had the power to make different choices, take alternate routes. It would have been so easy to coast along those dark waters until I gave up the fight and let myself drown.
But I chose to swim.
We hold the key to our own happiness, and what we put on the other side of that door is entirely up to us.
Our beginning doesn’t have to be our end.
Bree lets me go and rises from the chair as the final guests depart and Melody saunters over to us with August in her arms and our baby boy in her belly.
“I’m going to take off,” my sister says, meeting Melody halfway and enveloping both girls in a fond hug. “Enjoy the peace.”
She lifts her hand in goodbye as I stand to my feet and wave back. When her car rolls out of the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires and music fading off as she disappears down the dirt road, I turn to face a smiling Melody.
Her eyes are tired, gleaming with exhaustion, her skin pink from either a hot flash or wind burn. A long, flowing dress tickles her ankles, smeared with fingerpaint and cake. Both braids came loose, leaving her straw blonde hair in a mess of waves and tangles as a crisp wind sends it dancing behind her like a veil.
She’s burned out and overworked, but she’s still smiling.
I return the smile, plucking our three-year-old from her weakening arms, taking some of her weight. “Story time?”
Both girls nod with bright grins, and we collectively move to the back of the house and perch ourselves in the grass near the slow-growing magnolia tree. Walden joins us, prancing through the cracked back door with his red ball in his mouth, his long, healthy tufts of hair shining beneath the ambient sun.
August scurries from my lap the moment we’re situated, racing towards the house. “I get Nutmeg! She love stories.”
Melody and I share a tender glance as Walden settles beside us. I stroke a palm through his fur, and his sigh of contentment filters through me, adding to my placidity.
“I back!”
My daughter runs forward with the hamster in her hands, crawling into my lap.
August loves story time. She’s our little storyteller.
Every evening we gather together and talk about our favorite part of the day. We call it story time, but it’s more a moment of reflection. Appreciation. We look for the good in each day, even if the entirety of it felt like shit.
There is always something.
However small or insignificant, there’s always a glimmer of hope—of sweetness.
A starting point to build from.
I wrap an arm around my wife, pulling her against my chest until both of my favorite girls are entangled with me. We spend the next ten minutes talking, reminiscing, and watching the sun cast its final rays of golden orange along the skyline, bathing us in dusk.
Before we head back inside, a gentle breeze blows through, stealing our breath.
August stills in my lap and wonders aloud, “What that, Daddy? It tickle me.”
My fingers weave through Melody’s hair as a sm
ile paints my lips. She snuggles in closer, already knowing the answer.
I asked my father that same question one sunny afternoon on his front porch as the daylilies danced to a funny sort of breeze. Swallowing, I reply, “A zephyr.”
Giggles erupt from little pink lips. “That silly.”
Holding them both tighter, I recall a hazy memory with my father as I sat beside him on the porch swing with a lapful of plump cherries and a mischievous pup at my feet. He told me that every time a breeze rolled through it was a zephyr—a gentle promise of new beginnings.
Zephyrus was the god of the west wind, the god of springtime, a representation of fresh starts and growth. A beacon of hope and new life.
For whatever reason, I carried that moment with me. As a scared child, locked in that closet, I’d feel him with me every time a gust of wind shimmied beneath the door, a calm presence amidst the darkness.
My father. Zephyr.
He became my companion, my imaginary friend, whispering in my ear to hold on.
Winter doesn’t last forever.
Spring is coming.
It took a long fucking time to find my new beginning—my starting point. My blooming magnolia in a field of wilting and decay. But I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing… because everything led me to her. To them.
August leaps from my lap to dance around the yard, her hair and dress spinning as her feet whirl in clumsy circles. My eyes water at the vision. So precious, so beautiful, so fleeting.
A hard puff of air escapes me when Melody takes our daughter’s place, hopping into my lap and leaning back against my chest.
I grin. “So intrusive.”
She nuzzles in closer, her fine hairs tickling my chin as a chuckle breaks free. “Like the sun, right?”
My arms encase her body, pulling her as close as possible. I breathe in her citrusy musk, her flowery skin, and the warmth that bleeds from every inch of her. “Yeah… that’s right.”
Melody will always be the sun, shining bright, a beautiful new beginning.
But above all, she is my moon.
The perfect end.
“We go inside! Nutmeg sleepy,” August calls over, her smile sparkling, just like her mother’s. “We go home.”
Home.
With the love of my life tucked inside my arms, I watch from the grass as my daughter skips to the back door with a hamster in her hands and an old, sweet dog trailing her ankles.
My heart soars. “I love you, Melody,” I murmur softly, placing a kiss to the top of her head.
She sighs deeply before we rise to our feet, and then she twists in my embrace. Glancing up at me, the sweetest smile blooms to life, and her eyes twinkle jade and joyful, whispering the words before they even leave her lips. “I love you.”
I smile back.
Home.
They say that home is where the heart is…
And I know I found them both when I found her.
—EPILOGUE—
The Future
(The Day the Sun Sets)
I’ve always been tethered to the rain somehow.
Drizzle beats against the glass window with gentle pitter-patters, filling the room with something peaceful. A nostalgic ambience. It’s the perfect complement to my sedated heartbeats and the melodies drifting from a nearby speaker, serenading me with Unchained Melody.
My mind reflects along with the quiet storm clouds, and I think back to all of life’s pertinent moments that fused with rainfall. I lost something of great value on a rainy downtown street, but I also gained immensely over the years.
Breakthroughs, lovemaking, childbirth, and wedding vows.
Dancing, kisses, baseball games, and birthday parties.
Rain poured down on the day Ms. Katherine retired from Loving Lifelines, handing the reins over to me and giving me a deep layer of added purpose to my life. I can still recall the way her wet hair matted over her forehead as we stood in that familiar parking lot beneath a weeping sky.
“Shine bright, Melody. Your smile is a gift to even the saddest soul.”
My pulse thrums with bittersweet memories.
Yes. It’s fitting, I suppose—it’s always been the rain and me.
Heaving in a rickety sigh, I blink back tears, my gaze settling on the ceiling fan above me. It’s been an emotionally exhausting day of reminiscing and teary send-offs.
Final goodbyes.
Familiar faces have trickled in and out of the room with words of love and peace. All precious pieces of my heart. Our two beautiful children, our grandchildren, our plethora of great grandchildren. Our friends and family who are still living. Even our senior dog was brought in for a sweet farewell.
The goodbyes have been said.
All except for one.
It’s just me and Parker now, wrapped up in each other, lying beneath the warm, quieting sheets of our king-sized bed. We used to joke about trading the bed in for something smaller, a queen or a full, because the extra space always proved futile. Every single night, I would wind up on his side of the mattress, pressed up against his back or chest, lost in the comforting beats of his heart.
In all of our years together, we never slept apart. Not once. There were no business trips, no travel obligations, no arguments that separated us before nightfall settled in.
Every evening was spent together in this bed, beneath this roof he built himself, side by side. Limbs tangled, hearts aligned. Through late-night newborn feedings, heated passion, summer thunderstorms, movie marathons, and pancake breakfasts, this bed became a focal point in our long and happy marriage. Home base. We’d play card games, read books, discuss our day. There were tickle fights, cuddles with the kids, and wet dog noses.
I love this bed.
I love that my final moments on this earth will be spent here—with him.
Parker trails his fingers up and down the expanse of my arm, weaving them through my thin, white hair. His breath skims my temple as he leans in for a kiss. “My Melody,” he murmurs softly, his lips warm and tender as they linger. “My Magnolia. My moon.”
Tears rush to my tired eyes.
My favorite song plays faintly on the nightstand, intermingling with the sound of steady raindrops against the glass. He hasn’t left my side for weeks—taking care of me, holding me, lifting my spirits as my health declined. He’s my rock, my anchor, and my greatest gift. “I’m scared, Parker. I’m scared to leave you,” I whisper, my voice cracking with grief.
He’s trying to be strong for me. He’s trying to be brave.
His arms tighten around me, frailer than they used to be, but the strength of his love has never waned. “What have we always done when we get scared?”
“We dance.” My throat feels parched and rusty as tiny teardrops track down my cheeks. “There’s nothing scary about dancing.”
“That’s right.” Parker nods, his own tears spilling free and disappearing into the silky fabric of my nightgown. “We dance until we can swim.”
I would give anything to dance with him, but my body is weak, and my heart is fading. Inhaling a shuddering breath, I reply, “I think I’m too tired to dance.”
I wish we could dance our way through infinite lifetimes, but I’m grateful for the one we had. The one we created together.
It’s been such a good life. A great life.
It’s the life I chose, and it’s the life I would choose a thousand times over.
And to think… I almost didn’t make it this far. I would have missed out on so much.
“Close your eyes, Melody.”
His words are a choked whisper against my temple, and I cling to him with delicate hands, my eyelids fluttering. I’m flooded with a wave of peace.
“We’re in the lake,” he says. “We’re dancing in the water, holding each other tight, and nothing else matters. It’s just you and me, carefree and young, swaying together beneath a vibrant sunset. There’s laughter. There’s violins. There’s love.”
“I see it, Parker. I see it
,” I rasp as emotions sweep through me. “I’m with you.”
He pulls me closer, peppering kisses along my neck. “I’ll be right behind you, Melody. Wait for me.”
“I’ll wait,” I nod, squeezing him as tight as my body will allow. My breaths are ragged and worn, my limbs fatigued, but our love is mighty. Eternal. Blinking away more tears, I turn to him, finding his beautiful green eyes fixed on mine. “What do you think is on the other side?”
Parker doesn’t hesitate. He leans in, pressing a final kiss to my lips. “What you put there.”
I smile.
I’ll see you soon.
With his hand held tightly in mine and his heartbeat pressed up against my cheek, I inhale a deep, contented breath, and I close my eyes.
I’m ready now.
The End
—AUTHOR’S NOTE—
Thank you so much for going on this journey with Melody and Parker. I connected with this book on a very deep, emotional level, and I truly hope my love for these imaginary people shined through the pages. Their story unfolded organically, went off course in a million different ways, but ended exactly the way it was always meant to.
The epilogue was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write. It took me two full days to get those 978 words down…
But I believe in those 978 words so hard.
For a book that centers around suicide and giving up the fight prematurely, I wanted to depict the opposite of that. I wanted to showcase the beauty of living and what might be waiting for you on the other side of your struggles.
In my eyes, it’s the perfect full-circle end for Melody and Parker, and the ultimate happily ever after.
Please take a moment to listen to this beautiful song. It popped up on my suggested playlist when I was nearing the end of this book, and I think it was fate. ♡
See You On the Other Side by Brian Fallon
** If you or anyone you know suffers from suicidal thoughts, please seek help. You are wanted, and you are loved.
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255 **
The Wrong Heart Page 36
