“Did. Past tense. Until you.”
I think about that, about being the reason Helen stops trying to matchmaker her son. About being the answer to a question I didn’t know was being asked.
“Thank you,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m thanking him for. This day. This life. The way he made space for us in his family.
He glances over at me, his face lit by the dashboard lights. “For what?”
“I want this,” I whisper. “All of this.”
He doesn’t answer right away, just squeezes my thigh gently. When we stop at a red light, he turns to look at me fully.
“It’s yours,” he says simply. “It’s ours.”
The light turns green, and we drive on. Lily sleeps in the back, her face peaceful in the passing streetlights. I think about Zara’s laugh and Levi’s terrible jokes and the way Willow and Stormy folded Lily into their games. I think about Helen’s knowing looks and Paul’s quiet acceptance. I think about a family that chooses you.
Home isn’t the venue I’ve been hiding in for three years. It’s not even the house where Lily and I have built our careful life. Home is this car, driving through the Tennessee night. It’s Sunday cookouts and guitar harmonies and children’s laughter across summer grass. It’s Darian’s hand on my thigh and Lily’s soft snores and the promise of swimming lessons in the morning.
Home is the people who won’t let you stand on the outside.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says, and then, softer, “I love you too. Both of you.”
In the backseat, Lily shifts, mumbling something about horses and corn hole and can we go back next weekend. Darian catches my eye, and we both smile. Next weekend. Next month. Next year.
We pull into the driveway of our house. The porch light is on, the one I forgot to turn off this morning in our rush to leave. It looks welcoming now, waiting for us to come back.
We sit in the car for an extra moment, nobody moving. Darian’s hand finds mine across the console. Lily sighs in her sleep.
“Home,” I say.
“Home,” he agrees.
We gather our things, our daughter, our love, and head inside. The door closes behind us with a soft click, sealing us into our life. Our family. Our home.
epilogue
. . .
The crowd is already screamingand we haven’t even walked on stage yet. I adjust my guitar strap and check the tuning one more time, even though I checked it five minutes ago.
“Ready?” Darian asks from behind me. He’s tightening his bass strap, doing that thing where he rolls his shoulders before a performance.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out steady, which surprises me. This is our first real performance together. Not him playing backup. Not me doing harmonies. Equal partners.
Twenty thousand people spread out across the festival grounds. Zara texted earlier with a photo from their spot near the front. Levi sent “proud of you both.”
“You’re on in two minutes.” Jovie stands beside me, watching the stage crew finish the changeover. “Nina wants to go over the tour contracts before you leave.”
“After the show.”
“That’s what I told her.” She adjusts her headset. “The Nashville executives are in VIP.”
“Positions!” the stage manager shouts.
I spot Lily by the sound board where she likes to watch. At eleven, she’s obsessed with how everything works backstage. She waves at me and I wave back before heading to my mark.
Darian and I walk out together. The volume doubles. They’ve been following our relationship through social media posts and rehearsal clips.
