"I didn't say anything," I protest, lifting my hands as if in surrender.
"That adorable little look on your face said plenty," he narrows his eyes, trying to fight a smile. My cheeks flame, and he kisses the heated skin tenderly before telling me. "Wait here. I'll go up first."
I watch him, a little awed, as he deftly maneuvers his way up the ladder. That image of a tiny Callum scurrying up the ladder hits me... and then the vision shifts to our own children crawling up into the treehouse, reading and playing, their imaginations running wild.
Callum pops open the small wooden door and climbs inside, disappearing for a moment before he peeks out his head. He reaches a hand down and says, "All good, baby."
I carefully climb up the ladder, reaching my hand to him once I get high enough, and let him pull me inside. It definitely needs cleaning, as scattered leaves and dirt litter the floor, but the place is actually kinda cozy. Two windows cut into the sides let in sunlight, and it's big enough for both of us to fit comfortably.
Callum brushes a bunch of dead leaves away from a spot on the ground, before sitting down and then patting his lap for me.
I crawl over to him and curl myself into his waiting arms, sighing happily.
"You ever imagine you'd have a girl in here?" I tease him, and he chuckles, kissing my temple.
"Not in my wildest dreams," he says, his expression full of wonder. His hand traces along my hip, the movement slow andgentle, and he pauses when he feels the letter tucked into my pocket. "What was that letter?"
"Oh!" I smile, reaching into my pocket and pulling it out. It's a little bent and crumpled, so I smooth it out against my thigh. "This is a letter I wrote to myself, after Paul confessed... I wrote this right before I met you."
His eyes are like melted chocolate as they meet mine, and I hold it out to him.
"Do... do you want to read it? For me?"
"If you want me to," he says, and I nod, handing it to him. Snuggling deeper into his arms, I watch as he opens the envelopes, pulls out the letter, and clears his throat.
"Dear Sophie,
Paul cheated. Right now, it feels like a meteor just crashed through the ceiling and ripped a hole straight through the middle of my life. This morning he was here, and now he's not. That's his choice, and he has to live with it. And I hope he can. Or not, Tess is plotting his demise as I write this, and I'm not really inclined to stop her.
I keep forgetting how to breathe and then remembering, because I still have Tess. We'll always have Tess. She told me to write this letter to you because we love making lists. So, when you read this in a year, because of who we are, you will have accomplished the following:
You are going to live.
You are going to have survived chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation.
You are going to endure—and no, not just endure: you are not writing this year off. You will have had a life during the hard parts, not just after.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me even closer into his embrace like he wants to fold me into his skin, and he presses a long kiss into my hair.
"Keep going," I whisper, and he nods.
"So, here is the plan for us right now:
1) We are going to kick cancer's ass.
We will show up to every chemotherapy appointment and read, nap, and relax. We will stay hydrated, let people help, wear those cute little hats when we go bald, and forgive the mirror on bad days.”
Callum pauses, and his voice is warm as he leans close to my ear.
"You have always been beautiful to me," he whispers. "Every moment. Do you know that?"
"I know," I whisper back, my throat thick. Because I do know that. I never had to forgive the mirror. Even when I had no hair, even with no breasts, even when he had to bathe and feed me and help me go to the bathroom, he looked at me like I was beautiful.
"2) Build and rebuild.
Not literal things, but build a support network. Say yes to new opportunities and offers of friendship. All of our friends right now are more Paul's friends, so we will make our own.”
"And I did," I chuckle, hearing their laughter drift in from outside the treehouse.
