“The universe,” Julien said very carefully, “wants you to follow safety protocols.”
“That’s not how the universe works!”
“Stella—”
“I’ll stay on three branches!” she conceded, because even at three years old, she knew how to negotiate. “But only because I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
And then there was Atlas, our son, our youngest by three minutes, who was currently sitting in the grass examining a beetle with the kind of intense focus that suggested he was conducting a scientific study. He was quiet, thoughtful, and absolutely fascinated by how things worked. He took his toys apart to see their mechanisms. He asked questions that would challenge a philosophy professor. He was going to be brilliant—I could already tell.
He was also the one who gave the best hugs.
“Daddy, look!” Atlas held up the beetle carefully. “It has six legs and two antennae, and it’sbeautiful.”
Julien stopped chasing Luna and walked over to Atlas, crouching down to examine the beetle with the same seriousness he’d give a complex medical scan.
“You’re right,” he said. “It is beautiful. Do you know what kind of beetle it is?”
“A ground beetle, I think. Because of the shape of its body and the way it moves.”
“Very good observation.”
They spent a moment studying the beetle together, and my heart did that expanding thing again.
This.
This is what the universe promised me.
This beautiful, chaotic, perfectly imperfect life.
I met Julien three years and eight months ago in Las Vegas, in a moment so cosmically orchestrated that even he—Mr. Logic and Reason himself—couldn’t deny that something bigger than both of us was at work.
I knew the moment I saw him that he was my soulmate.
He knew the moment he saw me that I was going to ruin his life.
We were both right.
He did ruin my life. The old one, the one where I drifted from place to place, following the universe’s whispers but never quite landing anywhere permanent. He gave me roots. Stability. A home that wasn’t just a physical space but a feeling of belonging.
And I ruined his life. The old one, the one of rigid schedules and emotional distance and control so tight it was suffocating him. I gave him chaos. Spontaneity. Permission to feel things deeply and messily, and without a contingency plan.
We broke each other’s old lives apart.
And built something new together.
Something better.
Luna convinced Julien to play “hospital,” which was her current favorite game. She played the doctor, naturally, and she was very serious about it. She was currently checking hisheartbeat with a toy stethoscope while explaining that he needed to “eat more vegetables and do more yoga.”
“Yoga?” Julien asked, amused.
“For your chakras, Daddy. Mama says chakras are important.”
“Mama says a lot of things.”
“And Mama is always right!”
