No crowds, no cameras. Just sunlight cutting through the living room and the faint clatter of a cardboard box being set down somewhere behind me.
It’s the first real quiet we’ve had since the Final. The parade was two days ago—half the city’s still ringing from it—and I’m not sure my ears have stopped buzzing yet. The Cup’s already on its media circuit, passed from one set of hands to the next, but the echo of it still sits in my head—when it was lifted, the roar that followed.
Now, it’s just…home.
Coffee in my mug. Moving boxes stacked around us. Charlotte’s handwriting on masking tape—Kitchen, Bathroom, Bedroom. It makes my chest tighten a little every time I see it.
David’s in the entryway pretending to supervise while Sophie and Charlotte unpack dishes. He came by early to help unload the last boxes from her car. It’s mostly kitchen stuff, a few framed photos, and what Sophie called “grown-up plants.”
“Hey, careful with that,” David calls. “That box saysfragilefor a reason.”
Charlotte glances over her shoulder, grin easy. “Then maybe don’t hand it to her like a football.”
Sophie laughs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a kid, Uncle David.”
“Tell that to the stack of bubble wrap you were jumping on five minutes ago.”
I lean in the doorway, just watching. David’s sarcasm, Charlotte’s calm voice cutting through it, Sophie laughing so hard she drops a dish towel. It’s messy, loud, a little chaotic.
And somehow perfect.
The same house that used to echo when it was just me and Sophie feels full now. Lived-in. Like the walls finally exhaled.
I take another sip of coffee, let the warmth settle. The championship ring still feels heavy on my hand.
But the one I’ll slip onto her finger—that’s the one that matters most.
Charlotte brushes a strand of hair from her face and looks over at me.
“You okay over there, Captain?”
I nod, smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Better than okay.”
Charlotte arches a brow at my answer, like she doesn’t quite believe it.
“That’s your expert opinion?” she asks.
“Pretty solid self-diagnosis,” I say, setting my mug down. “You’re here. Sophie’s laughing. Twins on the way. I’m better than okay.”
David gestures to himself. “Excuse me. What am I—chopped liver?”
“I’ll put your name on the next box. Fragile.”
Sophie giggles, ducking her head like she’s trying not to laugh.
Charlotte shakes her head, still smiling, as she reaches into a box and starts handing Sophie cups to unwrap. “You two are impossible.”
“Correction,” David says, pointing between us, “he’simpossible. I’m just a supportive observer.”
Charlotte tosses a dish towel at him. It lands square on his shoulder, and he leaves it there like it’s a badge of honor.
Sophie laughs, and I can’t help but watch her. For a long time, it was just her and me and too much quiet. Seeing her laugh with Charlotte like that hits somewhere deep.
Charlotte crouches beside an open box and lifts out a small photo frame wrapped in paper. She peels it back carefully, eyes softening when she sees what’s inside.
It’s from the school musical: Sophie and Maya in costume, cheeks flushed, grinning from the stage steps after their performance.
She turns it toward Sophie, who studies the photo. “I was so nervous before that.”
