I put the phone down and start the car. The day stretches ahead: groceries, laundry, the email I need to send to the adoption lawyer about next week's hearing. I've put my teaching job on hold for now, the decision made in one of those late-night conversations that happen when the house is quiet and Charlie is asleep and the three of us are sitting on the couch with our legs tangled together.
"I want to be here," I told them. "For her. For the transition. I can go back to work when she's more settled."
Neither of them argued. Matthew just nodded and Trenton squeezed my hand, and that was that.
The store is quiet at this hour. I move through the aisles with my list, filling the cart with the things Charlie likes, like the specific brand of yogurt, the juice boxes with the dinosaurs on them, and the crackers shaped like fish. It's mundane in a way that feels like a gift. A month ago, a trip to the grocery store meant scanning every face, tracking every movement, my hand never far from the phone in my pocket. Now it means remembering whether we're out of milk.
My phone rings as I'm loading bags into the trunk. Carter's name lights up the screen.
"Hey," I answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear. "What's up?"
"Just checking in." His voice is warm, easy. "Matt said you were at the store. Everything good?"
"Everything's good. Charlie made it to preschool without incident. Well, she tried to bring Princess Sparklehoof into the classroom, but Miss Donna handled it."
He laughs. The sound is rich and genuine. "That kid and that unicorn."
"She's attached."
"We're all attached," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes me pause. It's not sadness, exactly, but realization.
"Listen, I wanted to let you know Caiden's coming by the house tonight. He's got some paperwork for Trent and Matt to sign."
"More club stuff?"
"More club stuff. He's been around a lot lately and Greyson's got him running point on the new security protocols, and he and Trent have been working together pretty closely."
I think about Caiden, quiet, intense, the kind of man who speaks only when he has something worth saying. He's been a steady presence at the clubhouse over the past month, his technical expertise making him invaluable as the MC expands its digital security operations. Trenton mentioned that he and Caiden have been spending late nights going over surveillance systems, and Matthew's been joining them more often than not.
"That's fine," I say. "We'll be home by five. Charlie has therapy at four."
"Need me to pick anything up on my way?"
I smile. "We're good, Carter. But thank you."
"Always, Morgan. See you tonight."
I hang up and finish loading the groceries. The sun is higher now, warming the parking lot, and the morning has that crisp, clean quality that November brings; the air sharp, the light golden. I take a breath and let it out slowly.
Home. Therapy. Dinner with Carter and Caiden. A normal Tuesday in our new normal life.
I get in the car and pull out of the parking lot, heading toward the quiet house that's become our sanctuary. The security system will ping my phone when I open the gate. Matthew will text to confirm I'm home. Trenton will call around noon to check in, his voice dropping to that private register he uses just for me.
The road unwinds ahead of me, familiar and safe, and for the first time in a long time, I'm not watching the rearview mirror.
The gate opens automatically when I pull into the driveway, and my phone buzzes with the expected notification: Front gate accessed. Vehicle recognized. I put the SUV in park and sit for a moment, watching the house. The new cameras catch the morning light on their casings, and the motion sensor by the garage blinks its steady green.
I grab the grocery bags from the back and head for the door, balancing three bags on one arm while I fish for my keys with the other. The lock turns before I get there.
Trenton is standing in the doorway.
"Hey," I say, surprised. "I thought you left for the clubhouse."
He takes two of the bags from me without answering. The look on his face is one I know well, that specific intensity that lives in the space between his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips, the way his eyes drop to my mouth and then back up.
"Matthew?" I call, stepping inside.
"Kitchen."
