Soft. Singing. Badly.
I lie there and listen.
And something in my chest shifts.
I findthem in the nursery.
Laney is standing by the crib in one of my old T-shirts, hair a mess, swaying gently with Emmy against her shoulder. Emmy’s fist is tangled in her hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Laney is talking to her about nothing.
About the weather.
About how she’s going to grow up strong and stubborn.
About how her dad is very serious and very scary and very, very soft when no one’s looking.
I lean in the doorway and don’t move.
This is the thing I didn’t know how to imagine.
Not safety.
Not survival.
Continuity.
Laney glances up and sees me.
Smiles.
Just… smiles.
No fear behind it.
No question.
Just:you’re here.
She holds Emmy out to me.
“Good morning, Ranger.”
I take my daughter and feel something lock into place in my bones.
Not a promise.
A decision.
Later,Laney is making coffee, and Emmy is in her bouncer, kicking like she’s personally offended by gravity.
Laney laughs.
It’s easy. Unforced.
I watch her move through the kitchen like she belongs here.
Like she’s always belonged here.
