Lila

The morning sun spills out across the kitchen floor, glinting off the fridge magnets and the sippy cup abandoned on the counter. A soft breeze carries the scent of the late-summer hydrangeas in through the screen door, mixing with the faint smell of cinnamon oatmeal bubbling on the stove. Evelyn’s backpack is sitting by the front door, the straps a little too long for her tiny shoulders, the glittery unicorn keychain already tugging loose threads from the fabric.

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It’s her first day of kindergarten.

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And my heart? It’s somewhere between bursting and breaking.

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“She’s not going to remember any of this, you know,” Dean says from behind me, his voice still rough from sleep, but his arms warm and firm as they wrap around my waist. “The careful notes in her lunchbox. The glitter you combed out of her hair. The fact that you ironed her dress.”

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“I didn’t iron it,” I murmur, leaning back into his chest. “I steamed it. There’s a difference.”

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He chuckles against the top of my head, then kisses my hair. “You’re perfect.”

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I snort. “Tell that to the spit-up on my shirt.”

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Dean pulls back slightly to glance down at our newest little one, nestled against my hip in the baby wrap. Eyelashes flutter against his chubby cheeks, his tiny mouth making soft suckling noises as he dreams. He’s three months old, all dimples and fuzzy hair and the sweet scent of something so purely innocent, it makes my chest ache.

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“He’s perfect too,” Dean says, adjusting the baby wrap gently. “And you—you’re even more beautiful now than the day I met you.”

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I roll my eyes, but it’s mostly for show. “You met me in an airport while I had mascara streaking down my face.”

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“Exactly,” he says, stepping in close again. “Even then, you were unforgettable.”

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A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, the kind that starts deep in my belly and spreads warmth all the way up. It still catches me off guard sometimes, how much happiness lives in the quiet moments. How this messy, chaotic life, mismatched socks and baby wipes and glittery backpacks, somehow became everything I didn’t know I needed.

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A giggle erupts from the hallway, followed by the frantic sound of running feet.

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“Mommy, I found my library card!” Evelyn races into the kitchen, pigtails bouncing, her dress puffed out like a cupcake. She beams up at me, clutching the crumpled card in one hand and holding her glittery lunchbox in the other. “Can we go now? I don’t wanna miss the bus!”

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I glance at the clock. “We still have fifteen minutes.”

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“But what if it’s early?” Her lip trembles just a little, and I feel the tug in my chest.

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Dean swoops in, crouching in front of her. “Tell you what. If the bus is early, I’ll race it down the street and hold it hostage until you’re safely on board.”

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Evelyn giggles again, the sound as light as air. “You’d do that?”

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“Absolutely,” he says, tapping her nose. “No one leaves without my girl.”

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Dean catches my gaze as he stands, and the look we share makes my knees go weak. He still does that to me, even now after all this time, after all the diapers and midnight feedings and the way he makes sure there’s always hot coffee waiting when I stumble into the kitchen after a sleepless night.

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There’s a quiet promise in his eyes. We’ve got this. Together.

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“Bus will be here in ten,” I say, clearing my throat as I kiss Evelyn’s forehead. “Go check your shoes, okay? Make sure they match this time.”

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As Evelyn scampers off, I turn toward the sink to rinse off a bottle, but Dean’s hand on my hip stops me. The baby has drifted fully to sleep now, his breathing soft and steady.

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“You okay?” Dean asks, his voice gentling. “You’ve been quiet this morning.”

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I nod, then shake my head. “I’m just… feeling everything. You know?”

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“Yeah.” He pulls me into his arms again, this time swaying just slightly, a rhythm only he hears. “I know.”

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We dance like that for a long minute, barefoot in the kitchen, baby nestled between us, sunlight painting halos around our feet. It’s nothing like the kind of life I thought I’d have. It’s better. It’s grounded. Real. Built on sleepless nights and whispered promises and quiet understanding.

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I rest my head on his shoulder. “I decided I want to go back to work,” I whisper, something Dean said I didn’t have to do if I wanted to raise our kids. He’s always been supportive and making sure I had the choice. “I still want to do the coordinator program, build better allergy curriculum, bring science back into these classrooms. But I want this too. All of this. You. The kids. The chaos.”

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Dean leans down and kisses me slow, tender. “Then you can have it all, Lila. You already do.”

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Dean’s head snaps up at the alarm on his phone. “That’s our five-minute warning.”

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We both move at once.

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I help Evelyn into her sparkly shoes, adjusting the Velcro with slightly trembling fingers while Dean grabs the camera and my coffee tumbles half-forgotten onto the kitchen counter. The baby stirs against my chest, sensing the sudden burst of motion.

Oliver races down the hall with his hoodie half-on, dragging his backpack behind him like a stubborn puppy. “Wait for me!”

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“You’ve got your lunch?” I call out, tucking Evelyn’s jacket around her shoulders.

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“Yep!” he shouts, hopping into one shoe, then the other.

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We barely get the door closed behind us before we’re hurrying down the long gravel drive, Evelyn skipping with every other step, her backpack bouncing behind her like it has a life of its own. Oliver walks a few feet ahead, already trying to act too cool but still reaching for Dean’s hand when we hit the slope.

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The maple trees overhead scatter gold and rust-colored leaves across our path, and I silently plead for the bus to be just a little late. Just a few more seconds of this.

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As we round the bend near the mailbox, the yellow bus crests the hill at the far end of the road, headlights flashing.

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“We made it,” I exhale.

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Evelyn bounces in place, eyes wide with excitement, her little fingers clutched tightly in mine. Oliver stands a little straighter, like he’s been through this routine enough times now to handle it like a pro, even if his free hand still lingers against Dean’s arm.

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The bus groans to a stop in front of us.

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Evelyn takes a deep breath, her brave face on, and lets go. Just like that.

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One step. Then another. Oliver climbs on ahead of her, giving a half-wave before turning toward the back like he’s already a teenager. Evelyn follows, pausing only at the top to flash us a triumphant grin and wave, her pigtails bouncing with pride.

I wave back, my chest both hollow and full, my heart stretched somewhere between joy and longing.

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“She’s going to be amazing,” Dean whispers beside me, sliding his arm around my waist as the bus pulls away.

“She already is,” I reply, voice thick with emotion.

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We stand there for a beat longer, watching the dust trail behind the bus disappear down the road. Everything feels a little quieter now. A little bigger. But Dean’s hand in mine, the baby’s soft weight against my chest, reminds me this moment isn’t about what’s gone, it’s about what we’ve built.

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Dean slips his arm around me, pressing a kiss to my temple. “So… how do you feel?”

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“Proud,” I say. “A little wrecked. A lot in love.”

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We walk back to the house slowly, the gravel crunching under our feet. The baby stirs against my chest, his fingers curling in sleep.

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Once inside, Dean closes the door behind us and pulls me into him again. “We still have a few hours before she comes home.”

My brows lift. “Is that so?”

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“Mm-hmm.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “I was thinking maybe pancakes. Then maybe some laundry. And then definitely a slow dance in the living room.”

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“You’re getting predictable, Dean Harrington.”

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He grins. “Nah. Just in love.”

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I don’t argue. Because I’m in love too—with this man, with this life, with this version of myself I never imagined I’d get to be.

Wife. Mother. Scientist. All of it.

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And the best part? I didn’t have to give anything up.

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I just had to be brave enough to believe I could have it all.

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