Chapter Eighteen : Perfectly Imperfect

The house was filled with the sound of Christmas music and the smell of pine, cinnamon, and gingerbread. Christmas was always a special time for us, but this year, with everything going on, it felt different. The holidays should've been full of excitement and joy, but instead, I found myself weighed down by worry and fatigue.

It was just a few days before Christmas, and I had been lucky enough to get some extended time off from WWE. For once, I didn't have to rush around, going from one city to the next. I was able to be home, in the house, with my kids and my woman—Tookie.

But even though I was home, something was still missing. Tookie's pregnancy with the triplets was taking a toll on her, and it wasn't just the physical strain of carrying three babies. It was the emotional weight, the worry in her eyes, the way she would look at me sometimes as though she were carrying the world on her shoulders. The joy we should've been feeling about the babies was often overshadowed by the fear and exhaustion that seemed to consume her.

Some days were better than others. On the good days, she would laugh and joke around with the kids, her usual bubbly self. But on the bad days, it was like a completely different person. She would stay in bed, barely able to move, barely able to speak. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, and I could hear the frustration in her voice when she talked about how difficult things had become.

Today was one of those bad days.

The kids were downstairs, decorating the third Christmas tree, a tradition that started when Trinity insisted we get a third one just for the kids to decorate however they wanted. I didn't have the heart to argue, and honestly, it was cute to see their excitement. They were all running around, putting up the mismatched ornaments that made the tree look more like something you'd see in a child's imagination than a magazine spread. But that's what Christmas was about, right? The mess, the chaos, the moments that felt a little bit imperfect, but were somehow perfect in their own way.

Tookie was upstairs, and I was with her, trying to do my best to help her through the discomfort. I had learned a lot about patience and empathy during this pregnancy. But I knew that sometimes, no matter how much you wanted to make things better, all you could do was be there, rub their swollen ankles, and let them know you understood.

I sat beside her, gently massaging her swollen ankles as she lay in bed, her eyes closed. She hadn't said much, but I could feel the heaviness in the room. The kind of silence that only comes from worry and exhaustion.

"I'm done having kids," Tookie said, her voice tired but clear.

I paused for a second, looking down at her swollen feet in my hands. I could feel the tightness in her muscles and how much she was struggling, but those words hit me in a way I wasn't expecting. I wasn't sure if it was the pregnancy talking, or if it was just her frustration with how difficult things had become, but it stung.

"I hear you, babe," I said softly, squeezing her hand. "I hear you."

Trinity had been saying something similar for a while now. Not about giving up on kids entirely, but she had definitely made it clear that she wasn't planning on going through pregnancy anytime soon. The idea of having more children was one of those things that, in the heat of the moment, was easy to decide. But when it came time to follow through with that decision, the reality of it was different. Pregnancy was hard—no one could deny that. But Tookie's had been especially challenging.

She had always wanted a big family, and I had always been on the same page. But after this, I wasn't so sure. The toll it had taken on her had been more than I ever imagined it would be. Tookie endured a lot—she was tough, strong, and always pushed through. But this was different.

Tookie was strong, but she was also human. And the weight of carrying three babies—while managing the lives of eight children and everything else—was beginning to break her. And as much as I wanted to fix it, I couldn't.

"I don't know how much more I can take, Jonathan," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I'm so tired. And I just want this over with."

I felt my heart break a little more. I knew she wanted the babies—hell, I wanted them too—but the truth was, we both knew it wasn't going to be easy. And it was hard, watching her go through this, not being able to take any of the pain away.

I shifted so I could sit closer to her, and I continued massaging her feet, trying to ease some of the discomfort. "I know, babe. I know. But you're doing amazing. You're carrying three little miracles in there. It's just gonna be tough for a little while longer, okay? We're almost there."

She looked at me with tired eyes, but I could see the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corners of her lips.

"You always know what to say," she whispered.

"I don't know what I'm saying half the time," I said, my voice filled with emotion. "But I'll always be here. No matter what. For you. For the kids. For us."

Her smile widened just a bit, but then her face fell again, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. "I feel like I'm letting you down," she admitted, her voice breaking.

I quickly shook my head, taking her hand in mine. "Don't you ever think that. You're not letting me down. You're carrying our babies. That's enough. You don't have to be perfect. You're already everything I could ever need."

She closed her eyes, letting out a soft breath. I could tell she was exhausted, but I wasn't about to let her feel alone in this. Not now. Not ever.

"I'm just so scared, Jonathan," she whispered, her voice cracking with the vulnerability she so rarely showed. "What if I can't do this? What if something happens?"

I felt a lump form in my throat at her words. I had been trying so hard to be strong for her, but hearing her express that kind of fear hit me harder than I expected. I squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her.

"You're going to be okay, Tookie. We're going to be okay. You've already gone through so much, and you're still here, fighting. I'm right here with you. Every step of the way."

She didn't say anything for a while, but I could tell the weight on her shoulders had lessened a little. I wasn't sure if I'd truly convinced her, but I knew she needed to hear it. She needed to hear that I believed in her, that I wasn't going anywhere, and that this—whatever this was—was something we would get through together.

Downstairs, I could hear the kids laughing and arguing over where to place the final ornament on the tree. Trinity's voice was particularly loud as she told the kids to be careful with the glass ornaments. It was a sound I loved, a reminder that even in the chaos, everything was still intact. We had a family. We had each other.

"Do you want to go downstairs and see what the kids are up to?" I asked, rubbing her feet one last time.

She shook her head, a small frown on her face. "Not today. I just want to rest. I'll be okay."

I kissed her forehead and stood up, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. "I'll check on you later. You just rest, okay?"

She nodded, sinking deeper into the bed as I left the room. As much as I hated seeing her like this, I knew there was nothing Trinity and I could do right now except be patient and supportive. The triplets would be here soon, and we would figure things out then.

I walked downstairs and found the kids in a frenzy around the Christmas tree. Trinity was putting the final touches on the top of the tree, while the twins were fighting over the placement of an ornament shaped like a reindeer.

"Guys, come on! Let's get it together," I said with a laugh, trying to bring some order to the chaos.

But it was moments like these that made everything worth it—the mess, the noise, the utter chaos of family life.

Even though Tookie, Trinity, and I were going through a difficult time, seeing the kids happy, their faces lit up by the glow of Christmas lights, reminded me of why we were doing all this. This was our family. Our love. And together, we could handle whatever came our way.

"Are we done yet, Daddy?" Jora asked, her hands on her hips, clearly proud of her work.

"For now, yeah," I said, ruffling her hair. "You did a good job, kiddo."

I walked over to the tree, looking at the odd assortment of decorations. It wasn't perfect, but that was the beauty of it. It was ours. And for now, that was enough.

I made my way back upstairs later that evening, gently opening the door to our bedroom. Tookie was asleep, her face peaceful for the moment. I smiled softly, grateful for this time, even though it wasn't perfect.

But maybe that was the point.

We didn't have to be perfect to be happy. We just had to be together.