The one that got away

Epilogue

This is through Bellamy's point of view.

Three months later

Octavia had been a walking bridezilla the week before her wedding. I felt bad for Clarke and the hell she was putting her through. The maid of honor had to help with all the arrangements and Clarke wasn't getting enough sleep as it was. She was up all night with Dylan, who had chicken pox. Octavia had been furious when she found out her flower girl might not make it to the ceremony. I had to talk her down, she screamed at Clarke for more than ten minutes about how she should be a better mother.

Clarke was an amazing mother, I had to give it to her. Even after John was released from prison, she stayed strong. I was the one who got angry when he contacted her. He was going to his anger management classes, he was learning how to handle his problems. He wanted to see his daughter, he wanted to tell her he was sorry for the things he put her through. Clarke listened to him. In the end she said he could see Dylan as long as she was there, as long as he was still going to his classes.

We fought about that. I didn't want Dylan to see John, not when he was just released. Sure he was going to his classes now, but if he got what he wanted and saw her, he could quit without a second thought. Clarke was convinced he was changing, she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. She was forgiving that way, she still had a heart of gold. Even that bastard couldn't change that. She was still the girl I had fallen in love with all those years ago.

After Dylan's third birthday we decorated her room with princesses. She loved it, all the pink and purple everywhere. Clarke had painted her a castle on the wall, she played with that thing more than any other toy she got for her birthday. Clarke was happy, she smiled more, she laughed at the little jokes people told. She wasn't as scared as she had been in those first few days. She seemed more like herself.

One night after I got home late from work I found her crying. Dylan was fast asleep, I checked on her whenever I came home to the front door unlocked. Bubbah was whining at the bathroom door, I heard her tears on the other side. I didn't knock, I just opened in and went in. She was sitting with her back against the bathtub, holding my box of letters.

"If I had known, my dad would still be here. I wouldn't have been so afraid to leave," a tear fell down her cheek as Bubbah stood beside me. She was a mess, I still wasn't sure how to handle that. I took in a breath and picked her up, cradling her in my arms. She smelled like Clarke, a mix of roses and woods and home. I kissed her cheek, she wrapped her arms around my neck.

She kept babbling about her dad. Most days she seemed okay, she was dealing with his death one day at a time. But there were nights, like this one, she fell apart. I held her until the tears stop, I always did. She would cling to my shirt, her tears staining the fabric. I didn't care, all I wanted was for her to pull through and remember how much love she still had in this world.

Nighttime was when Clarke would tell me she hated how much time we had lost. Two years we could've been together, if she had been smart enough to leave him before all the abuse started. I told her it didn't matter, because she had gotten Dylan and we were happy together now. Sometimes I was afraid that wasn't enough. So I would stay awake, watching her sleep. She would turn and face me, her features relaxed. She was peaceful when she finally fell asleep beside me.

John stopped going to his anger management classes, so I stopped him from seeing Dylan. He came to the house once drunk and angry, he was looking for a fight. I told him to leave or his fight would end with me. That was the first and only time he tried to lay a hand on our little girl. I didn't care who her biological father was, she was my daughter. She would always be my daughter. I loved her as much as Clarke did.