I stood between them, my fingers lacing with theirs as the photographer began to count down. And then, as if on cue, the air filled with a soft flurry of pink rose petals.
The petals floated down around us, delicate and slow, each one a whisper of joy. Calla gasped, tears filling her eyes. James smiled so wide it made me laugh through my own tears. We didn’t need to say a word. Everyone would know soon enough.
Our daughter.
Our light.
Phoenix Sorai.
She was the embodiment of everything we had endured and overcome. She was hope made tangible, transformation made flesh, and resilience given a heartbeat. She was the life that love itself had breathed back into us.
The petals swirled through the air. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the moment sink in. And for a split second, I was back in that dream, the one that had lived in my mind for so long.
The dream where I stood between James and an unknown woman, both of them touching me, loving me, surrounding me in light. I had felt the same pull then, the same warmth, the same sense of being seen. Now I knew the woman in my dreams had always been Calla.
The love I had been searching for had always been this. That dream had been a glimpse of my destiny, long before I was ready to claim it. As I opened my eyes, there they were: my reality, my peace, my home. James pressed a kiss to my forehead, and Calla’s hand rested over my heart.
As the photographer captured that exact moment, I smiled, knowing what it all meant. Love had not only found me, it had remade me, it had rebirthed me.
And through it, we had risen, all three of us, stronger and brighter, just like our daughter, Phoenix Sorai, a living testament that from every ending, something beautiful can rise again.
Weeks later, I stood by the window in the soft morning light, Phoenix cradled in my arms as she suckled from my breasts. The world outside was quiet, painted in shades of gold and pink, the same colors that had filled the studio the day we announced her. Her tiny fingers curled around mine, her breathing light and steady against my chest.
I looked down at her face, at the little lips and button nose, at the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and I felt it again, that same peace, that same awe that had carried me since Curaçao.
Calla was asleep in the bed behind me, her hand resting in James'. Their breathing matched, slow and calm. We had built something sacred together, something that felt more like grace than anything I had ever known.
Phoenix stirred softly, her small mouth forming a faint smile as she started to drift back to sleep, signifying she’d gotten milk drunk and was ready to rest, and I leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“I found you,” I whispered. “I found all of you.”
Outside, the sun climbed higher, bathing the room in light. It felt like the dream again, but this time, I was awake. I didn’t just feel loved, I am loved.
Phoenix was sleeping soundly in her bassinet beside the couch, one tiny hand fisted near her cheek, the other stretched out as if she were already claiming her space in the world. The sound of her soft breathing filled the house, steady and sweet, like a rhythm I didn’t know I needed.
Calla had gone with Amiyah to her postpartum appointment, insisting that she drive so Amiyah could rest a little. I told her I’d keep Phoenix at home, and she laughed, saying she trusted me more with the baby than with picking out a restaurant.
Now, hours later, it was just me and my daughter.
I sat on the couch, half-watching a basketball game with the volume turned low, but mostly, I watched her. There was something humbling about her smallness, the way she seemed to breathe light into every shadow in the room. Every so often, she made a little sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and it pulled me out of my head every time.
It was strange how quiet moments like this brought everything back.
I thought about my own childhood, about the noise that used to fill our house, but not the kind that made you feel safe. I remembered watching Maverick get torn apart by our father’s words, by his anger and ignorance. I remembered standing between them, desperate to make peace, desperate to keep the family from cracking completely.
Back then, I thought peacekeeping meant staying silent.
Now I knew better.
I thought about my father, how hard he’s worked to rebuild what he broke. How he looks Maverick in the eye now when he says “I love you,” how the words no longer feel like they have to be earned. My brother has every right to hate him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he chose healing, he chose growth, and in doing so, he showed the rest of us what forgiveness really looked like.
I smiled to myself, my eyes drifting back to Phoenix.
I used to be afraid of becoming the man my father was, but now, I see that I’ve become something different entirely. I’m not perfect, and I never will be, but I am present, and I’m honest; I’m learning to lead without control, to love without fear, and to be strong enough to submit when love calls for it.
Calla and Amiyah gave me that. They taught me that freedom isn’t found in perfection; it’s found in the ability to face the truths that scare you.
Phoenix shifted in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and I couldn’t help but grin. “You’ve got their spirit already, huh?” I whispered. “All that fire, wrapped up in something so small.”
