She laughs and swats my chest. "Go to bed."
I watch her slip out into the night, crossing to her apartment, and I'm already counting down the hours until I can touch her again.
I manage maybe three hours of sleep before I hear Lilliana's door crashing open.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" She's already running for the stairs. "Did Santa come? Did he come?"
"Why don't you go see?"
She thunders down the stairs, and I follow at a more sedate pace, my body pleasantly sore from last night's activities. When I reach the living room, Lilliana's already tearing into her stocking, and Maren's standing in the doorway in fresh clothes, her hair still damp from a shower.
Our eyes meet across the room, and heat flares between us. I want to cross to her, pull her into my arms, kiss her until neither of us can think. But Lilliana's here, and we need to be careful.
"Maren!" Lilliana runs over and hugs her. "Santa came! Look at all the presents!"
"I see!" Maren laughs, hugging her back. "Did you check your stocking?"
"Yes! There's candy and a new bookmark and—oh! Daddy, can we open presents now?"
"After breakfast," I say firmly. "That's the rule."
She pouts but accepts it, and the three of us head to the kitchen. I make pancakes while Maren helps Lilliana set the table, and it's so domestic and perfect it makes my chest ache.
This is what I want. Every morning. This woman in my kitchen, my daughter happy and loved, all of us together.
After breakfast, we settle in the living room for presents. Lilliana opens hers with enthusiasm—art supplies, books, clothes, a tablet for reading that I spent way too much on but she's been asking for. She's thrilled with everything, and watching her joy makes all the late-night Amazon ordering worth it.
"This one's for Maren," Lilliana announces, holding up a small box.
Maren looks surprised. "For me?"
"I picked it out," Lilliana says proudly. "Daddy helped me order it, but I chose it."
Maren opens the box carefully and pulls out a delicate silver bracelet with a small book charm. Her eyes fill with tears.
"Lilliana, it's beautiful."
"Because you love reading to me," Lilliana explains. "And I love you."
Maren pulls her into a hug, and I have to look away before I start tearing up too.
"I have something for both of you too," Maren says, pulling out two wrapped packages. "Nothing fancy, but..."
Lilliana tears into hers and gasps. It's a handmade photo album filled with pictures from the past four months—Lilliana and Maren baking, reading, playing in the yard. Every page is decorated with little drawings and notes in Maren's handwriting.
"This is amazing!" Lilliana flips through it carefully. "Look, Daddy, it's when we made those cookies!"
I open mine more slowly. It's a professional drawing of me, Lilliana, and Maren together. We're in this living room, all three of us smiling, and it's so perfectly captured it takes my breath away.
"When did you..." I start, my voice rough.
"I hired someone to work from photos," she admits. "I wanted to give you something that showed... well. Us."
Us. The word hangs in the air, heavy with meaning.
"I love it," I say quietly. "Thank you."
Lilliana's looking between us with a puzzled expression. "Why does Daddy look like that?"
