One Year Later

I'm lightly bouncing baby Malachi against my hip, attempting to get him to take a bottle, but the baby is fighting against me with all his might, which is surprising for his size. He's small for his age – newly six months old this week – hence the bottle. We're trying to get him to put on weight, but he's dead set on resisting in favour of being breastfed.

Somewhere in the house, Morgana howls with rage and indignation over being forced to take a nap. Apparently, she skipped right over the terrible twos and the 'threenager' stage and saved all her naughtiness for me. I try not to take it personally – she misses her father and our new life isn't easy for anyone, let alone a preschooler, to adjust to.

The older two children are at school and we considered sending Morgana to preschool this year, but she doesn't always remember her new name (Maren, so it's not too big a change for the little girl), so we agreed it's too risky at the moment.

I think Emily keeps expecting me to be overwhelmed by the complicated new lives we lead and change my mind. I think she's counting down in her mind until I turn and run, no matter how many times I tell her that isn't going to happen. I try not to take it personally – in her whole life, Ian is the only person who has stuck with her, who's stayed true to his word, who never abandoned her. I'm determined to prove that she can trust me, no matter how long it takes.

"Why did you do it?" Emily's voice comes from the doorway to the nursery. Hearing his mother's voice, Malachi is instantly excited, squirming about, reaching his tiny arms out for her. I give up on the bottle, knowing he's not about to take it now.

I turn my head to look at her. She's leaning against the door frame, smiling softly as she watches the two of us. "Do what?" I ask, returning the smile.

She raises a brow, looking at me like I should know what she's talking about. I do, of course, because I've been waiting for her to ask. I knew it was only a matter of time before her curiosity got the better of her and she'd have to know.

"You know why."

She shakes her head, crosses the room to take the wriggling baby from my arms. She sits in the rocking chair and pulls down her shirt to feed him. She smiles tenderly down at him, stroking the peach fuzz on the top of his head. "I know why you said you did it, but that's not the real reason." It isn't a question.

It isn't yet clear which parent Malachi will take after, though I know Emily's hoping he'll look like Ian. I think she wanted to name him after his father, but refrained, out of deference to my sacrifice. She gave him a good Irish name, though, one he would have been proud of. Malachi Oisin Cassidy, since we had to leave the Doyle name behind.

Finally, she looks back up at me and she's smiling, but her eyes are searching out something in mine. "Why did you abandon everything for us?" she asks in a whisper, like she's afraid of the answer.

"You needed me," I say with a shrug. It's a half-truth and we both know it.

She cocks her head to the side, silently urging me to tell the truth. She knows I've never been able to deny her anything, all she has to do is ask.

"I promised to protect you. You thought he was the only one who would, but I always tried... Emily, I always tried."

"But you could've just given us the passports and let us go – you didn't have to come with us. Why would you do that?" she insists.

"Because I love you! I've always loved you, ever since we were kids, okay?" It's a little too loud, a little too emphatic. Malachi gives me an indignant look for interrupting his feeding.

"But you gave up your family, your job, your entire life for this...uncertainty. To raise four children that aren't yours. Because you loved someone that might never love you back?" She seems incredulous, skeptical even.

"I don't think you understand... You're everything to me. I've never felt this way about anyone else. Even when we were kids, I knew I'd love you to the day I died."

Her eyes slowly fill with tears. She shakes her head a little and I don't know whether it's from disbelief or whether she's wishing it weren't true.

"I love you, Emily, and I'd raise a hundred of his children to be with you. And I will love them like my own, no matter who fathered them." I know I'll never replace their father – in their mind or hers – but every day I do my best to prove myself worthy in the hopes that one day they'll allow me room in their hearts.

Her smile is small and watery. She blinks up at me, fighting back the tears in her eyes.

Everything in me wants to lean down and kiss her, but I don't. "I'd give up everything for you – again and again and again. Do you hear me?"

She nods insistently, sniffles. She doesn't say she loves me back, hasn't been able to say it yet. It will take time, I understand that and I'm not going to push her to say it before she's ready, even if that day never comes. Even if all she and I can ever be is two friends with a past.

I kiss the top of Malachi's head, breathing in the sweet new baby smell. I lift his sleepy form out of her arms and set him in his crib. We haven't talked about whether we'll raise him as my son, even though I already love him as my own.

"We're a family," I tell her softly as I close the door to the nursery. "And as long as you want me to be here, I will be."

"I don't think I'll ever understand how you did it," she says, still shaking her head. "How you could give up everything for us."

I just smile and fold her into my embrace.