The opposing team's pitcher winds up, and Lily swings with all her might. The crack of the bat echoes across the field, and the ball soars into shallow center field.
"Run!" Matthew shouts, dropping his clipboard and waving his arms. "Run, Lily!"
Charlie takes off from second base as Lily races toward first. The center fielder fumbles the ball, and suddenly the bases are clearing. Charlie rounds third, her ponytail flying behind her as Trenton waves her home.
"Slide!" he shouts.
Charlie hits the dirt in a cloud of dust, her foot tagging home plate a split second before the catcher's glove closes around her ankle.
"Safe!" the umpire calls, and our side of the bleachers erupts in cheers.
I struggle to my feet, wincing as the babies choose that moment to practice their own form of celebration. "That's my girl!" I shout, though I doubt Charlie can hear me over the noise.
She's already on her feet, high-fiving her teammates with the kind of unbridled joy that still makes my heart ache in the best possible way. Two years have passed since Evan, and while the memories of that night in the barn still haunt our dreams occasionally, they've receded to manageable shadows rather than all-consuming darkness.
"We did it!" Charlie shouts, running toward the dugout where her teammates are jumping and hugging. "We won!"
Trenton and Matthew meet at home plate, exchanging a complicated handshake that involves a ridiculous number of steps but always ends with them clasping hands and grinning at each other like proud fathers.
"Mom!" Charlie breaks away from her team and runs toward me, her face flushed with excitement. "Did you see? I scored the winning run!"
"I saw every second of it," I tell her, wrapping an arm around her dusty shoulders. "You were amazing."
She looks up at me, her blue eyes shining with pride. "Papa said I have natural instincts for the game. He says I could play in high school if I keep practicing."
"High school is a long way off," I remind her, smoothing her hair back from her sweaty face. "But if that's what you want, we'll support you."
"Daddy says I can try out for travel ball next season." She bounces on her toes, unable to contain her excitement. "He says the team needs a good second baseman."
I glance over at Trenton and Matthew, who are gathering equipment while the other parents congratulate them on the championship. Two years ago, I wouldn't have imagined them coaching a girls' softball team, but here they are, planning practices, teaching fundamentals, and cheering louder than anyone in the stands.
"Go help your coaches," I tell Charlie, giving her a gentle push. "I need to sit down before these babies decide to make an early appearance."
Charlie nods seriously. "Papa says they're going to be soccer players, but I think they should play softball. It's the best sport."
"Go." I laugh, settling onto the lower bleacher with a grateful sigh. "We'll discuss their future athletic careers later."
She races off, and I watch her go, marveling at how far we've come. The adoption was finalized and Charlie has thrived in the security of our home. She still sees Dr. Elaine once a month, but the nightmares have become rare, the anxiety manageable.
"Need a hand?" Matthew appears at my side, offering his arm as I struggle to stand.
"I need a forklift," I grumble, but take his hand gratefully. "These two are practicing their karate moves again."
He places his free hand on my belly, his face softening as he feels the movement beneath his palm. "They're strong, just like their mom."
"Just like their big sister," I correct, nodding toward Charlie, who's helping Trenton load equipment into the back of his truck.
Matthew's smile is warm as he watches them. "She had a great game today. That slide into home was textbook."
"Where did she learn to slide like that? I certainly didn't teach her."
"Trenton's been working with her in the backyard." He guides me toward the parking lot, his arm a steady support at my waist. "Every evening after dinner. They've got this whole routine: he pitches, she hits, they work on base running. It's pretty cute."
I lean into him, enjoying the solid warmth of his body. "You're not jealous of their softball bond?"
"Are you kidding? I'm the one teaching her how to keep score." He pats the clipboard tucked under his arm. "I've got pages of data on every player. Trenton may know how to slide, but I know Lily's batting average against left-handed pitchers."
I laugh, the sound carrying across the nearly empty parking lot. "My two former special forces operatives, reduced to softball statisticians and base-running coaches."
