Wonderland

❄ ❅ Epilogue ❅ ❄

Epilogue

"Maisy, stop. Put it back. I'm serious," I said, firmly. There was no way I was going to spend a hundred dollars on a fucking children's costume. Disney is out of their mind.

"But I want it, daddy. I want it, I want it—" I grabbed my four-year-old daughter's arm, and that's when she made her move. Without a warning, Maisy broke out into a bawl right in the middle of the Disney store. She clutched the Cinderella dress tightly in her hands and refused to let go. Tears were streaming relentlessly down her face.

My face paled, and I let out a nervous chuckle when a parent walked past me with an irksome look on his face.

Dammit, Maisy. I'm not a villain!

I crouched down next to my daughter and put a hand on her back in an attempt to placate her, but she wasn't having it. I bottled up my frustration and said, "Fine. We'll get it. Alright?"

Immediately, Maisy stopped crying and looked at me with those bambi eyes of hers. Her eyes are hazel, just like her mother's, and her brown hair is done up in two braids. People say Maisy looks uncannily like me. I can't see it, which is maddening.

"Come on, let's go," I said, picking her up. I mentally punched myself for caving into her cries again. Last time, I got her a Barbie Dreamhouse because I made the mistake of taking her to Toys "R" Us.

There's a reason why Maisy throws tantrums when she doesn't get her way—she knows that tantrums are key to getting what she wants. I have a feeling she'll be a good businesswoman in the future.

"No. I want shoes, too," Maisy said, brazenly, pointing to the Cinderella shoes displayed on the shelves beside where she had gotten the costume. She squirms in my arms.

"You said the costume, so we're getting the costume," I snapped. "Stop being so greedy. And plus, you have plenty of shoes back h—Ow! Maisy, stop. Stop, stop, stop!" She held a fistful of my hair in her tiny hands, and I could hear a tantrum about to erupt from her again.

The one day Isabelle decided to take Heather away from me... I need Heather so much right now. Isabelle's been keeping in touch with Heather since she went with me to Massachusetts a few years ago to visit Heather. Heather still remembered Isabelle, and she cried when she saw her again. Since Isabelle works at Seattle, she comes visit Heather at least once a week to take her out to dinner or something.

"Daddy..." Maisy started crying again when she realized I wouldn't be getting her those plastic shoes, but I ignored her. I bought her the dress and hurried out of the store as quickly as I could. Note to self: never ever step foot inside a Disney store ever again. I don't even know what compelled me to take Maisy in there in the first place. Maybe it had to do with the fact that we were going to Disney World next week, to celebrate her fifth birthday.

If I was going to be honest, Maisy hadn't even been apart of Heather and mine's plans after we got married. Heather's doctor told me that it would be in my best interests if she didn't get pregnant because of the implications her anterograde amnesia may cause her. One of them was not recognizing her own child, and the other was being unable to provide for all the love and needs a child required. Because of this, I never had any plans of becoming a father—and I was fine with that.

Heather and I weren't like Esmond and Bridget, anyway. We don't sleep with each other every week. There's a reason why Bridget got knocked up again a few years after her fourth child was born. I burst out laughing when Esmond told me. Poor Bridget. And to think she wouldn't get pregnant past the age of thirty—she's thirty-three now.