Epilogue 2: Emlyn

Two years later

“Daddddeeeeeeee.” I watch as my daughter races past me arms extended to her father, her sandy blond curls bouncing around her face as she runs. From the moment she was born, she was a daddy’s girl.

Richie reaches down and scoops her up. “What is it, pumpkin?”

“Lender won’t pway with me.” She hasn’t quite gotten Leander’s name down as she tells her father why she's upset.

I turn and watch my three-year-old son walk into the room. He may look like me, but his swagger is all his father’s. I’ve seen him watching Richie and mimicking his walk and he has it down. His arms are swinging out to his side and away from his body, like Richie’s. Unlike his father, Leander doesn’t have the muscle tone to cause his arms to push out the way Richie’s do, so instead it looks like a cute attempt to look like a grownup.

“Dad, I can’t play with her, I’m busy doing Alpha stuff.”

Alpha stuff? I roll my eyes. My son is three, the only ‘Alpha stuff’ he has to do is stay healthy and grow b