"She's three weeks old," Riley said, passing by with a stack of files. "She can barely see your face."
"She can see enough to know greatness when she encounters it."
Riley rolled her eyes, but I caught the corner of her mouth twitching.
Owen appeared from somewhere, quiet as always, and lifted Gabrielle from the carrier with hands that knew exactly what they were doing. He cradled her against his chest, one broad palm supporting her head, and she settled into him like she'd known him her whole short life.
"Hey there, little one," he murmured. "You getting bigger every day, aren't you?"
Something about the way he held her made my chest ache. The gentleness in his big hands. The soft voice that didn't match his solid frame. He would have made a good father, I thought. Maybe he would, if he found the right one, someday.
Riley drifted back over, her sharp edges softening the way they always did around Gabrielle. She'd been the one to teach me the swaddling technique that finally got the baby to sleep through more than two hours at a time. Had shown up at my apartment three days after I'd brought Gabrielle home with a bag of supplies and a list of tips she'd learned raising her sister.
"How are you holding up?" she asked now, her voice low enough that the others couldn't hear.
"I’m actually sleeping. Cal has been helping with the night feedings, letting me drift for a while."
Riley glanced across the bay to where Cal waschecking equipment. Something flickered in her expression that I couldn't quite read.
"He's good at that," she said. "The helping. Whether you ask him to or not."
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just nodded.
"If you ever need anything," Riley continued, "you call me. I mean it. Middle of the night, doesn't matter. I know what it's like, doing this alone."
"Thank you." I meant it. Coming from Riley, who guarded her time fiercely because she had so little of it, the offer was no small thing. "Really. That means a lot."
She nodded, and something in her expression softened.
"I'm not alone, though," I added, the words coming out before I thought about them. "Not anymore."
Riley's eyebrows lifted slightly. She glanced across the bay again, her eyes lingering where Cal was still checking equipment. When she looked back at me, there was a small nod, as if she were agreeing with what I’d just said.
"No," she said, that almost-smile appearing again. "I guess you're not."
I watched them while I was still there during Cal's shift. They were my accidental family, a gift fromfate. I felt so good that it made me try to remember the last time I’d felt this way.
Liam was trying to make Gabrielle laugh, this time with a new face that involved waggling his eyebrows and making ridiculous sounds. Owen had retreated to fix something, his version of showing love, quiet and practical. Riley was teaching me a new technique for burping, her hands sure and steady as she demonstrated.
And Cal was there. Always there, even when he was across the room. I could feel his attention like something tangible, the way he tracked my movements, and how he noticed when I needed help before I asked for it.
Doc Martinez had stopped by the last day for Gabrielle's checkup. She was healthy, growing well, and hitting all her milestones. He'd asked about the foster certification process—the home study, the interviews, all the bureaucratic steps between emergency placement and something more permanent.
"It's early," he'd said, "but if you want to keep her long-term, we should start building the file now. The court will need to see stability."
"A two-parent household isn't required," he'd said carefully, "but when the time comes for permanency hearings, it does help. Judges like stability."
I'd nodded like it didn't mean anything. Like I hadn't immediately thought of Cal standing beside me at the courthouse. Cal's name on the paperwork. Cal's hand in mine as we made Gabrielle officially ours.
Ours. Not mine. Ours.
When had I started thinking that way?
I didn't have to ponder. I already knew the answer, even if I didn't want to admit it. I'd started thinking that way the night he brought her to me. The moment he stood behind me in the café and said, ‘She needs you.’ And every time I felt his breath against my hair and knew, with sudden, terrible clarity, that I didn’t want to do this without him.
That I didn’t want to do anything without him.
Joanna came to visit me at the station around lunchtime, arms full of takeout containers. She had always looked after me, and this was no different, even now, with the unofficial maternity leave she’d quietly carved out for me.
