We'd been here three weeks. The boxes were mostly unpacked. Zoe had claimed the bedroom with the best natural light, as promised, and had already covered one wall with photos and concert posters. The kitchen was small but functional. The spare bedroom sat empty, waiting.
"You're doing that thing," Shane said, settling beside me.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you're solving a problem in your head and haven't told me about it yet."
I smiled despite myself. He knew me too well.
"I've been thinking about Destiny," I said. "And Tommy. And all the kids who age out of the system with nowhere to go."
Shane waited.
"That extra bedroom," I continued. "We said we'd figure out what to do with it later."
"What about it?"
I turned to look at him. My almost-husband. The man who'd shown up with Chinese food and a toolkit. The man who'd run into a burning building for me. The man who'd taught me that some people stay.
"What do you think about becoming foster parents?" I said. "After we're married."
Shane didn't hesitate. Didn't flinch. Didn't do the math on what that would mean: the paperwork, the training, the disruption to the quiet life we'd been building.
He just said: "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Maya." He set down his coffee and took my hands. "Whatever you want to build, I'm building it with you."
I kissed him. Right there on the balcony, in my pajamas, the city was waking up around us.
"I can't wait to marry you," I said against his lips.
"Good." He grinned. "Because I've been waiting a year and I'm getting impatient."
That afternoon, I stood at the back of the aisle in a community center in Queens, waiting.
Not a fancy venue. The same room where Shane had gotten down on one knee in front of four hundred people and made every person who'd ever judged me watch him choose me.
It looked different now. White lights strung across the ceiling. Flowers cascading from mason jars on every table. The scent of roses mixing with coffee and cake, and the particular warmth of a room full of people who showed up.
Who showed up for me.
The firehouse crew filled an entire row.
Brian, as best man, tugging at his collar like the suit was personally offending him, grinning so wide his face might crack. Garrett beside him, steady and quiet as always, though I caught him checking his phone twice, his expression unreadable. Captain Rodriguez and his wife, in the second row, their kids squirming with barely contained excitement.
Shane's mother sat in the front row on his side, a tissue already pressed to her eyes. She'd called me daughter last week, casual and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I'd had to excuse myself to the bathroom so she wouldn't see me cry.
My students were there too. Marcus, in a tiny suit, grinning like he'd never grinned before. James, beside him, sitting stillfor once, his mother's hand on his shoulder. Linda from second grade had come too, dabbing her eyes with a tissue and mouthingI'm so happy for youwhen she caught me looking. Principal Hendricks sat in the front row, already crying, and we hadn't even started.
And Destiny.
She was wearing the purple dress she'd told me about three weeks ago, the one her grandmother had bought her for the occasion. Her mother's mother, who'd spent eight months fighting through paperwork and home studies and court dates to get custody. Destiny had moved in with her last month. She had her own room now. A bed that was hers. A place that wasn’t temporary anymore.
She'd shown me pictures on her phone the week before, her voice careful and measured the way it always was, like she was afraid to want it too much. But her eyes gave her away.
She was holding her grandmother's hand now, and when she caught me looking, she didn't duck her head or look away. She smiled. Small, but real.
