Someone Exactly Like Me by Debbie Cromack

Epilogue

Nicco

Walking into our suite at the Mandarin Oriental Jumeira hotel, I see my wife relaxing on the chaise out on our private balcony, reading a book.

I set my guitar by the sofa in the living room and go straight to her, kneeling next to her and putting my ear on her swollen belly, waiting.

“Did he kick today?”

“Not yet,” she says, running her hand through my hair. “He’s waiting for his daddy to sing to him.”

I look up at her and smile then sing part of a song I’ll be performing at tonight’s concert in Dubai. “Will you have your mother’s smile? Will you have my eyes? None of it matters. I’ll love you ‘til I die.”

She sits forward. “There. Did you see it?” she asks, taking my hand and placing it on her belly.

I feel it. A powerful kick from my son’s tiny foot in the palm of my hand. I can’t imagine being any happier than I am right now.

“I think he might be a football player like me.”

“We’ll teach him that he can be anything he wants to be. I just hope he turns out to be someone exactly like you.”