Rosie licked milk from her spoon and announced, “We should bake something today.”
“Like what?” Maggie asked.
“Muffins,” Arlo said instantly. “With chocolate.”
“Yeah, muffins,” Jude echoed, mouth full.
Maggie laughed, surprising herself with the sound. “Muffins it is. But you’re all sous-chefs, and you have to follow the boss’s orders.”
Rosie puffed up, clearly pleased. “I’m the boss of sugar.”
“Obviously,” Maggie said, pulling the flour from the pantry. “Use your powers wisely.”
Chaos bloomed instantly. Flour dusted the counters like first snow, Jude dropped half an eggshell into the bowl, Arlotried to fish it out with his fingers, and Rosie dumped a mountain of sugar that could have fueled a small village. Maggie laughed, loud and unguarded, her heart tugging at the sight of all three kids orbiting her in their sticky, noisy way.
She was wiping chocolate from Jude’s cheek when the front door opened.
Her chest hitched.
And then Gwen’s voice floated in, tentative: “I just forgot a file for work.”
The kids froze for a split second, then erupted like fireworks. “MOM!”
They barreled down the hall, feet pounding, Rosie nearly toppling off her stool in her rush to reach her. The twins collided with Gwen’s legs, arms wrapping tight. Rosie climbed up her like a koala.
“You’re here!” Rosie squealed, muffled against Gwen’s blazer. “We never get both moms anymore.”
The twins echoed her, chanting, “Both moms, both moms,” until Maggie had to press her palm flat to the counter just to stay upright.
Gwen crouched, folder forgotten, arms full of their kids, her laugh breaking in that startled, fragile way Maggie remembered from a thousand small moments — birthday candles, spilled cereal, chaos that made her soften. A strand of hair had slipped from her clip, catching on her cheek.
And Maggie, standing with the spoon still in her hand, felt the ache hit bone deep.
Because Rosie was right. They didn’t get this anymore. Not the noise, not the togetherness. Not both. Not for a long time.
“Hey,” Gwen said finally, looking up at her. Just one word. Careful.
“Hey,” Maggie answered, her voice rougher than she wanted.
The kids tugged at Gwen’s hands, babbling about eggs and chocolate chips and Rosie’s sugar coup. For a moment, it almost felt like before — like an ordinary Monday morning when the house was alive and whole.
Then Gwen straightened, folder in hand again, smoothing her jacket back into place. “I’ve got to get to the office.”
A collective groan. Rosie’s lip wobbled. “But… muffins.”
Gwen kissed the top of her head. “Save me one.”
The twins chorused promises. Rosie beamed through her pout.
The door shut, and the house felt too quiet, even with the kids still shouting about who got to lick the spoon.
Maggie stirred the batter hard, forcing a smile. “All right, sous-chefs. Let’s make these the best muffins ever.”
The house looked the same, smelled the same, sounded the same — and yet it wasn’t.
CHAPTER 26
Gwen
