The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the Bennett estate's back garden as friends and family mingled beneath strings of warm, golden lights. A long table stretched under the pergola, adorned with seasonal blooms and platters of food that had long since been half-devoured.
Lyra sat perched on Eliza's lap, blinking at the world like she'd just emerged from a long dream. She was nearly five months old now, alert and chubby-cheeked, with a face that could still silence entire rooms with one curious glance.
"She's gotten so big," Zara cooed from across the table, bouncing her own baby—a boy just a month younger—on her shoulder. "But she still looks like a tiny version of Will."
Eliza rolled her eyes. "Don't encourage him."
Will, standing beside her chair with a plate in hand, only smirked. "I like to think she got my better features."
"She got your appetite, that's for sure," Eliza murmured, as Lyra latched onto the corner of her cardigan and began gnawing like she intended to win a prize.
Their laughter joined the soft swell of voices around them, familiar and full of ease. It had been months since they'd hosted anything, but when Zara and Theo invited them to this small, casual evening—mostly just their old circle, with a few new faces—they'd said yes without hesitation.
It felt good to say yes to life again.
Later, when most of the meal had been eaten and the sun had dipped below the treeline, Eliza found herself sitting on a woven blanket in a quiet patch of grass near the garden's edge. Lyra was lying on her stomach beside Zara's son, both babies gurgling and kicking and occasionally swatting at one another like sleepy sea creatures.
Eliza watched them, warmth filling her chest.
"It's weird," Zara said softly, sitting beside her. "A year ago we were both in heels and power suits pretending we weren't crying in the bathroom between meetings."
Eliza let out a slow laugh. "Now we're trading diaper bag hacks and comparing teething gels."
"Do you miss it?" Zara asked. "The old rhythm?"
Eliza didn't answer right away. She reached out instead, smoothing a bit of hair from Lyra's forehead as the baby flopped over with a surprised squeak.
"I thought I would," she said honestly. "And I'm still me. I still love what I built. But… the scale's changed. Everything that felt loud before feels quieter now. Like it only matters if it still fits in this version of my life."
Zara nodded, eyes a little glassy. "Yeah. I get that."
Will joined them then, kneeling beside Eliza and stealing a kiss to her temple. "She stole someone's grape," he whispered, holding up Lyra's fist—clutched around a very squished, suspiciously stolen grape.
Eliza gasped dramatically. "A thief already?"
"Just like her mother," Will teased. "Stole my heart in plain sight."
She groaned. "That was awful."
He smiled, soft and shameless.
Lyra suddenly reached out—her clumsy hand brushing the boy beside her, who startled, then giggled, then reached back.
The moment was fleeting.
But it struck them all—the sight of their children discovering each other, making some kind of wordless connection in the innocence of infancy.
Will's hand closed gently over Eliza's.
"Can you imagine," he murmured, "a whole bunch of them?"
Eliza turned to look at him. "A whole bunch?"
"Well," he said, laughing as Lyra squealed and fell sideways into the other baby, "maybe just… enough for a little chaos. A little noise. A little more love."
Eliza leaned her head on his shoulder, watching their daughter settle into laughter.
"A little more love sounds good."
And somewhere inside her—beneath the layers of strength and weariness and everything she'd become—she felt it bloom:
The readiness.
The want.
Not just for what they had, but for the possibility of more.