I still await new collections , If you like the story and want even more bonus chapters then kindly keep on adding to the Library, and I hope you'll stick with me to the end 😇😇😇😇.
Bonus Chapter(2/2)
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The nursery was still and golden by morning, the soft haze of sunlight catching on the gentle rise and fall of Will's chest as he dozed in the glider, Lyra curled up on him like she'd never known another place to belong.
Eliza stood in the doorway again, just as she had the night before. But this time, there was a smile tugging at her lips—and something quieter in her gaze.
Resolve.
She walked in barefoot and crouched beside them, whispering as she reached for her daughter.
"Okay, little bloom. Time to give your daddy a break."
Lyra stirred but didn't cry as she transitioned into Eliza's arms. Will cracked one eye open groggily, and blinked at them both.
"She's all yours," he mumbled with a lopsided smile. "Don't let her swindle you."
"She already has," Eliza said softly, brushing her thumb over Lyra's cheek. "But I'm going to try anyway."
Will looked at her for a beat longer, sensing something in her voice—something steady. Proud. A little nervous, maybe, but sure.
"You're going out?" he asked.
Eliza nodded. "Just the park. Just for an hour. I need to know I can."
He sat up straighter, his smile deepening. "You can."
She kissed his forehead before heading out, bundled and calm, her daughter nestled close against her. As the door clicked shut, a strange silence fell over the house. Will stood there for a second, feeling the quiet settle into the space they'd all filled together for the past few weeks.
Then he smiled to himself and rolled up his sleeves.
Eliza's hands were trembling by the time she reached the park.
It wasn't cold—it was warm enough that she'd left Lyra's hat slightly loose—but something inside her kept ticking like an over-wound clock. She held her baby close, her body remembering everything the books couldn't teach: when to shield her eyes from the sun, how to read the sound of her breathing, how to match her rhythm to her daughter's tiny heartbeat.
It wasn't just about keeping her safe.
It was about proving something to herself.
That she hadn't disappeared in the process of becoming someone new.
That she could still carry both parts of herself—the woman who once walked in heels and silence, and the one who now wore soft sneakers and whispered songs under her breath.
Lyra dozed through most of the walk, rousing only once when a breeze rustled the trees. Eliza sat on a quiet bench beneath a flowering dogwood tree and stared down at her.
She hadn't cried. Not even once.
Eliza blinked, and blinked again.
"Oh my god," she whispered, her throat tight.
She hadn't cried either.
And just like that, her eyes welled with tears—not of fear or exhaustion, but a fierce kind of joy she hadn't let herself feel since the moment she first held her daughter and realized what it would mean to love someone this much.
"I did it," she whispered, leaning down to kiss Lyra's tiny brow. "We did it."
When Eliza walked back through the door, the scent of vanilla and lemon greeted her.
She blinked. The lights were low, warm. The kitchen counters were spotless. On the dining table sat a pale blue linen cloth, two plates, soft candles, and a handwritten note tucked beneath a single gardenia:
"You don't have to be everything all at once. But you've already been more than enough for us."—Love, Will."
She turned to find him at the threshold, freshly showered, sleeves rolled, cheeks flushed like he'd been racing the clock.
"Eliza Bennett," he said with a mock bow, "you've returned."
She tried not to cry. Failed immediately. "You didn't have to—"
"I know I didn't have to," he said, pulling her close with one hand while cupping the back of Lyra's head with the other. "That's why I did."
She buried her face in his chest, overwhelmed by the gesture, by the day, by the fragile pride blooming inside her chest.
Later, after Lyra was tucked into her crib and soft jazz played in the background, Eliza sat across from Will at the candlelit table, her hand in his.
"You really are her favorite," she murmured.
Will's brow lifted playfully. "Still mad about that?"
"Not mad." She exhaled. "Just… grateful. She loves you so much already."
"She will love you most," he said, "in ways neither of us even understand yet. But for now—if you need a nap, a walk, a breath—you can take it."
"Because you're here."
He smiled. "Always."
And as they ate together in the stillness of their home, Eliza felt something inside her settle—like roots finally anchoring in soil that had once been too hard to touch.
This was her new beginning.Not loud. Not dramatic.Just real.Just theirs.