She elbowed me gently. “My mom loves her. She keeps saying Emma reminds her of Lyra at that age, lots of energy and questions.”
“How is Lyra doing?”
“She’s good. She's coming over this weekend.”
We cooked together—well, Mireya cooked while I tried to help and mostly just got in the way. She was patient with me, only elbowing me twice when I took up too much space. The meal we made was much better than anything I could have done on my own.
We were halfway through dinner when Emma walked into the kitchen.
“I forgot my—” She stopped and looked at the two of us at the table with our food and wine. She let out a loud groan. “You two are so gross.”
“We’re just eating dinner, Emma,” I said.
“You’re practically cuddling while you eat. There’s a big difference.” She poured herself a glass of orange juice. “I'm leaving before I have to see any more of this.”
We heard the door close, and we looked at each other and laughed.
“She’s not wrong,” Mireya said.
“About us being hopeless?”
“About us being gross.” She reached across the table and took my hand. “But I think I kind of like it.”
“I like it, too.”
We finished eating and cleaned up together, then settled on the couch watching city lights through the window. No big speeches or drama. Just quiet peace. Just us.
Mireya curled against my side, and I pulled her closer, breathing in her scent, feeling her steady breathing against my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For this life. For building something real.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for letting me.”
We stayed like that for a long time. I thought about how far we had come from that supply closet where she had collapsed. We were building a future together, one choice at a time.
It wasn't perfect. Emma still set off smoke alarms, Mireya still worked too many hours, and I still had days when being CEO felt overwhelming.
But this life was ours. Genuinely, undeniably ours.
And for me, that was more than enough.
