But I’m going to do it anyway.
“I’m ready,” I said.
Three Years Later
Athena
The universe spoke in whispers and shouts, in coincidences and cosmic jokes, in moments so perfectly orchestrated that you couldn’t help but laugh at the beautiful absurdity of it all.
I’d always known this.
From the time I was a little girl, sitting in my mother’s garden while she explained the language of plants and the wisdom of the Earth, I understood that I was meant for something remarkable. Not remarkable in the way most people defined it. Not fame or fortune or conventional success, but remarkable in the way that mattered.
A life lived in alignment with the universe.
A journey that would challenge me, change me, and ultimately lead me exactly where I was meant to be. I just didn’t know, back then, that “where I was meant to be” would involve a neurosurgeon with an eye twitch, a spreadsheet obsession, and absolutely no belief in cosmic forces.
The universe, as always, had a sense of humor.
Sitting on the back porch of our house—the house with the good vibes, the one Julien tried so hard to logic his way out of before finally surrendering to the inevitable—I watched the afternoon sun paint everything gold. It was late September, that perfect time of year when summer was releasing its grip and autumn was just beginning to whisper its arrival.
The air smelled like cut grass and the last of the season’s roses.
And from the backyard, I could hear laughter.
Not just any laughter.
The kind of laughter that came from pure, unfiltered joy.
The kind that made my heart expand until I thought it might burst.
The kind that reminded me that every single moment of chaos, every challenge, every test the universe threw at me was all worth it.
All of it.
For this.
I took a sip of my tea, chamomile with honey, because some things never changed, and watched my husband chase our three-year-old children around the backyard.
Julien was wearing jeans.Jeans.Not pressed slacks or tailored trousers, but actual, slightly grass-stained jeans. His hair was messy from tiny hands grabbing at it, and there was what appeared to be a sticker of a dinosaur stuck to his shoulder.
He looked absolutely perfect.
“Daddy, you can’t catch me!” Luna shrieked, her dark curls bouncing as she ran. She was our oldest by two minutes, and she knew it. She was also the most like Julien—organized, determined, and absolutely convinced that she could plan her way through any situation. Last week, she made a schedule for her stuffed animals. Color-coded. With time blocks for “snuggles” and “adventures.”
Julien was so proud that he actually cried.
“I’m going to catch you!” Julien yelled back, his voice full of mock-seriousness. “I’m the fastest daddy in the world!”
“No, you’re not!” That was Stella, our middle child, who was currently attempting to climb the oak tree in the corner of the yard. She was fearless in a way that made my heart stop andsoar simultaneously. She was the one who believed in magic, who talked to plants, who insisted that the moon followed her wherever she went. She was me, basically. Julien’s eye twitched every time she did something particularly daring, but he’d learned to breathe through it.
Mostly.
“Stella, please don’t climb higher than the third branch,” Julien said, his neurosurgeon voice activating. “We discussed this. Three branches are the safe limit until you’re four.”
“But, Daddy, the universe wants me to go higher!”
I hid my smile behind my teacup.
