Then she pushes away from the wall and stretches her arms over her head.
“Well,” she glances toward the kitchen. “I should probably get the popcorn and snacks ready for our movie night.”
“Good plan.”
She walks toward the kitchen, and for a moment I just stand there with Mila in my arms and watch her go.
Brooke moves through the house with a confidence she never used to have. The tension that used to live in her shoulders has eased over the years. She still carries the scars, the memories, the darkness that shaped both of us, but she carries it differently now.
She owns it.
She finished her master’s program last year. The degree hangs in her office even though the name printed on it is not the one she was born with. The paperwork might not tell the whole truth, but that doesn’t change the fact that she earned it.
She did the work.
Now she runs therapy groups twice a week for trauma survivors. People who have been hurt, broken, and left behind by the world sit in a circle with her and talk about the things most people refuse to say out loud.
They trust her. They listen to her.
And somehow, against every possible expectation, she helps them.
I watch her disappear into the kitchen and feel something settle deep in my chest.
For a long time, survival was the only goal either of us had.
Now we have something else.
A home.
A life.
A family.
I look down at Mila, who has managed to grab a fistful of my shirt and is currently trying to chew on the fabric with complete determination.
For the first time in my life, I'm not just surviving, I'm raising a family. Being a brother. Being a father. Being a husband.
Being a brother to them still feels strange some days. Ryan and Elise move through the house with the restless energy of teenagers who finally understand they are safe enough to push boundaries.
Ryan is still quiet by nature, but he looks people in the eye now. He makes jokes. He lets me teach him how to fight and how to carry himself in a room without shrinking from it.
Elise still talks to me as if I personally invented every problem in the world, but the truth shows up in the small moments she thinks no one notices. Sheasks Brooke for advice now. She lets me teach her how to drive. Sometimes I catch her slipping into Mila’s room late at night just to rock her back to sleep when she wakes up.
She loves it here.
Even if she pretends otherwise.
We didn’t grow up together. We didn’t even meet until three years ago. But somehow, we have made something out of the ashes.
Our chaos. Our house. Our family.
Brooke stands at the stove with her back to me, focused on the pot like the fate of the world depends on the popcorn not burning. Her hips shift slightly as she moves, her attention completely locked on the task in front of her.
Mila babbles in my arms while chewing on her fist, drool soaking into the front of my shirt without the slightest concern.
I walk up behind Brooke and slide an arm around her waist, pulling her gently back against my chest. The scent of coconut baby shampoo lingers in her hair.
“You’re definitely going to burn it,” I murmur near her ear while carefully handing Mila over to her with one hand.
