“She looks like Carina,” he says.
“Lucky kid,” I mutter. “But no shot at anonymity.”
He huffs out what might be a laugh—it’s hard to tell with him.
Heidi turns just as Viktor sets the giant sloth on the floor beside the couch. It topples sideways, oversized head lolling against her leg.
Heidi raises a brow. “Really?”
“It has big green eyes,” Viktor says, as Heidi’s own green eyes narrow at him. “They are cute and interesting.”
“Ivy can’t even see beyond her own hands.”
“She will grow, like a mushroom.”
They lock eyes, just for a second. Heidi’s lips twitch, and Viktor looks away first. Carina’s watching all of it from the couch, faint amusement etched into the corners of her mouth.
Viktor clears his throat. “Congratulations, Hutch.”
“Thanks.”
He gestures toward the baby. “She is… very small.”
“She was bigger a few days ago,” I deadpan. “Think she’s just playing us. Getting cuter by the hour.”
That earns a snort from Heidi and a low chuckle from Viktor.
The moment stretches, warm and weighted, as if the walls of the house have shifted to accommodate the noise, the energy, the mess of people and love now filling it.
Outside, the treehouse creaks with the stomp of little feet. Meadow’s shrieking something about a royal proclamation, while Noah climbs behind her, and Theo hollers from below, demanding “Up! Up!” until Jake helps him scramble to the top.
Inside, Carina’s barely upright on the couch, hair loose and cheeks flushed, but there’s a soft circle of chaos around her—Lulu reaching for the baby again, Charlie tucking a blanket higher, Logan restocking the diaper caddy like it’s a mission.Tamara brings another tea she won’t finish, and Zoe silently folds muslins. Even Chase keeps glancing at Ivy like she might vanish if he looks away too long.
It shouldn’t work, this many people. This much noise. This patched-together crew of chaos.
But it does.
The weather outside has dulled to a November hush—soft light slanting through the windows, the sky holding that bruised, late-fall hue that never quite becomes light enough.
I glance at Carina, and she’s watching them all, eyes glassy with exhaustion and something deeper.
Love. Loss. Both held close.
There are names we haven’t said out loud, people who should be here and aren’t. Her dad. Harry. Adele.
People we’ve loved with our whole chests. People we’ll miss for our whole lives.
But somehow, their absence doesn’t hollow this moment. It deepens it.
Because the people whoarehere—laughing and fussing and loving this tiny girl like she’s always belonged—are holding the shape of those we’ve lost. Filling the space they left behind.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about the crease I haven’t touched or the net I haven’t guarded.
I’m thinking about this house, this life. My family.
And how lucky I am to be part of it.
Chapter thirty-seven
