Carter pulls the card from his pocket. He'd tucked it away, and opens it, showing me the inside.
In Maya's handwriting: *Thank you for being my daddy and for giving me a real home and a baby brother and the best mommy in the world. I love you forever and ever.*
My throat tightens. "Oh, Maya."
"Yeah." Carter's voice is rough.
"She loves you so much."
"I love her so much." He closes the card, tucking it away again. "Both of them. All three of you. Never thought I'd have this, Alice. A real family. A home that's actually a home, not just a place we're staying temporarily."
I take his free hand, threading our fingers together. "You deserve this. Deserve to be happy."
"So do you." He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "You told me three years ago that I was exactly enough. You were wrong, though."
My heart clenches. "Carter—"
"You were wrong," he continues, "because I'm more than enough. We're more than enough. This family we've built? It's everything. More than I ever dreamed of having."
Tears prick my eyes. "You're going to make me cry."
"Good tears?"
"The best tears." I lean in and kiss him. "I love you, Riot."
He grins at the road name. "Love you too, Mrs. Blake."
James chooses that moment to wake up, making small hungry noises that will escalate to full crying if I don't feed him soon.
"I'll take him inside," Carter offers, taking our son from my arms. "You get started on dinner. We'll be in to help in a minute."
I watch him walk inside, cradling James with the confidence of a man who's done this before but the tenderness of a man who knows how precious it is. Through the window, I can see Maya washing her hands at the kitchen sink, talking animatedly about something, and Carter listening while gently bouncing James.
My family. My home. My life.
I stand and head inside, where Maya is already pulling out the pasta pot and Carter is settling into the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen, the one we put there specifically so he could hold James while I cook.
"Mommy, can I put the water in the pot?" Maya asks.
"Let me help you so you don't spill," I say, moving to the sink.
We work together. Maya measuring water while I supervise, Carter feeding James a bottle while rocking slowly, Biscuit curled up at Carter's feet like he's been there forever.
This is my life now. Cooking dinner with my daughter while my husband feeds our son, in the house where I grew up, surrounded by memories old and new.
"You know what I was thinking?" Carter says from the rocking chair. "Maybe this summer we could take a real vacation. Rent a cabin somewhere, just the four of us. Let Maya see some mountains, maybe some lakes."
"I'd love that," I say, stirring the sauce Maya handed me. "Maya would love that too."
"Can Biscuit come?" Maya asks immediately.
"Of course Biscuit can come," Carter confirms. "Wouldn't be a family vacation without him."
Maya cheers, and I smile, already imagining it. The five of us, because Biscuit counts, somewhere beautiful and peaceful, making memories that Maya and James will carry with them forever.
Later, after dinner is eaten and dishes are washed and Maya is in bed with her nightly story read by Carter, we finally collapseonto our own bed. James is on his crib in the nursery, finally sleeping for what will hopefully be a solid four hours.
Carter pulls me against his chest, and I curl into him like I've been doing for three years, like I'll do for the rest of our lives.
