I could already see it. A future here. Me, Mara, and maybe three or four kids. Enough bedrooms for everyone. The girls sharing, the boys sneaking into each other’s rooms at night for secret games and snacks. Laughter echoing off the walls. Morning pancakes. Late-night movies. A place filled with life, not drama.
While Mara was checking out the kitchen—admiring the layout, running her fingers over the marble countertop—I wrapped my arms around her from behind and kissed the soft skin of her neck.
“We’ll cook here together,” I whispered, “and do whatever we want, whenever we want.”
I felt her body relax into mine. A soft sound escaped her lips—part giggle, part sigh—and it was exactly what I needed to hear.
“No Tina. No Darian. No Lacy. No Martha,” I murmured against her ear. “Just us, M
