Annie Loves Armin

Epilogue: Perfect

Thank you, as always, for reading. And thank you, once more, to my lovely friend, Ghazi, for co-writing and assisting with editing for this chapter. None of this would have been possible without you, Ghazi!

Also, this story has a Spotify playlist (which was also created with help from Ghazi)! So kick back, turn on some Spotify, and enjoy the final chapter of Annie Loves Armin! (And if you'd like, let me know if you come across any more songs that fit this story.)

https://open.spotify.com/user/skyrules177/playlist/5e63B6xEWkMWPu45m0jM1I

-----------------------------------------

June 26

Today Armin and I celebrated August's birthday. Even though he wasn't with us this year and hasn't been for almost five now, it still felt as if he were right beside us.

August Arlert came into our lives fifteen years ago. I still can hardly believe I've been a mother for that long. It seems like just yesterday when we brought our son home for the very first time and the reality of parenthood settled in on both of us. I remember crying alongside August that night, lamenting to Armin that there was no way I could be the perfect mother to this child. Armin held me close, as he always did when things got particularly rough, and laughed softly, assuring that there was no such thing as a perfect mother. It wasn't enough to stop the tears, but it made me laugh, and that was good for me.

August had a relatively normal childhood, or so I'd like to believe. When he started school, his teachers were always sending him home with notes about how impressed they were with his blossoming intelligence: a trait he surely gained from his father. My favorite memories were of him running through the door with his backpack dragging on the ground, clutching a myriad of books against his chest and begging me to drop everything I was doing so we could read together. It was his enthusiasm and excitement for life that often pulled me through my own.

Just like his father, August was curious about the world around him. When I'd have to separate the two from their casual studies for dinner or bedtime, I was often met with protests. There was little that could keep father and son apart. I was informed more than a handful of times of Armin checking August out of school early so they could visit an aquarium during feeding time, or so they could go to a museum when it was quietest. When I'd confront Armin about these, he'd simply smile and say he was giving August the childhood he deserves. It was hard to argue with such logic, but I managed.

When August was nine, just a few months from turning ten, Armin and I received the news that forever changed our world.

August had been sick for awhile. What we initially thought was a stomach virus quickly grew into something more vicious. After a restless night filled with consistent vomiting and August complaining that he was having trouble breathing, Armin and I rushed him to the ER.

I thought I had known fear up until this point in my life. I was convinced that I had faced the worst of it and that I was immune to such a desperate feeling of hopelessness. But the pure terror I felt watching my son lay limply in a hospital bed as nurses and doctors rushed around him, trying everything in their power to get him to feel at least a fraction better than he currently was...It was indescribable.

When things had settled down, Armin and I got closer to August and held his hands. Armin assured August that everything was fine. He made lighthearted jokes and told a more simplified version of his own hospital visit years prior.

"I was terrified!" Armin exclaimed with a gentle smile, running his hands through August's messy, blond locks. "But you know what helped me?"

"What?" August asked weakly, barely able to keep his eyes open as if he were falling asleep into Armin's comforting grasp.