Ever After

Epilogue

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This chapter is in Mark's perspective.

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"No, honey – I told you not to touch that."

He nodded in understanding after poking it a bit too hard, sending his grandfather's priceless vase tumbling down and onto the floor. I decided I'd pick it up later.

"Hey – hey! Don't spill that on the sofa!"

Too late, of course. He'd already spilled his grape juice all over the crystal-clear cushion. At least, what had been the crystal-clear cushion.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times," I grunted, bending over to clean up after him. "'Don't spill your grape juice on the sofa,' just like I always say – where'd you go?"

My entire body swiveled around, my eyes at a loss as to where he could've vanished to. For a moment, it was as if I were struggling to find Waldo, desperately searching for the red stripes and hipster-like glasses – this time, unlike my usual endeavours with Where's Waldo, was quick and painless, for I found him within seconds.

"No, not the tiny box, Tim!" I screeched, dropping my rag and towel to chase after him. "You know it's –"

A loud crash.

"Fragile."

He blushed innocently as I came up to swoop him up and off of the floor, deciding that I was finally done with letting him race wildly throughout the apartment just as soon as the front door flew open, the sound of it banging shut following soon after (meaning, of course, the proud and loud father was home). I raced into the foyer to meet up with him, unhappy with what was to be seen on the face of the clock.

"Why are you home so late?" I hissed. "You said soccer practice ends at three!"

"I think Sam's eye is infected," he said, completely disregarding my question. He gestured to the five-year-old at his knee's height, the one rubbing his eye and quietly moaning to himself. "Got it cut on the playin' field."

"You must be joking," I heaved, handing him the two-year-old I clung onto as I bent over to meet up with his adorable height. "Let me see?"

Upon command, he moved his hand away from his eye, showing tints of green and red creeping up around his vibrant, blue iris. I let out a womanly screech in astonishment, for I didn't expect something so dramatic.

"It's so... septic!" I exclaimed.

Jack nodded proudly, as if it were great news. "Pretty sick, eh?"

"No," I said firmly. "More like sickening. How could you let this happen today!?"

"Hey!" he said, melodramatically holding his hands in the air as if under arrest. "I'm not the one who kicked him with it!"

I rolled my eyes into the back of my head before hoisting myself up and free from the ground, watching Sam race off and onto the stained sofa to watch cartoons.

"Don't even ask," I demanded Jack, just knowing he was going to ask about it. "I swear, there wasn't even a point in child-proofing this place – they still find their way around."

"Well, now that Sam can reach light switches, I think we're gonna need some back-up," Jack admitted, handing Tim over.

I smiled admirably as he walked into the kitchen, opening the oven a crack to take a look at the turkey inside of it. He shut seconds after having checked it with the thermometer, shooting a questioning stare in my direction.