The house felt just a little too quiet after the ocean.
Back in the soft hush of their home, with the scent of lavender from the diffuser and the faint hum of Lyra's white noise machine upstairs, Eliza curled her legs beneath her on the couch and sipped warm tea while Will folded laundry beside her. The evening sunlight filtered through the wide windows, casting gentle gold across the wood floors and walls lined with photos from their trip.
"She's still sleeping?" Eliza asked, glancing toward the monitor.
Will nodded, folding one of Lyra's tiny onesies with surprising precision. "Out like a light. Beach therapy. Highly effective."
A soft smile tugged at Eliza's lips, but her eyes lingered on the monitor longer than necessary.
"You miss her already," Will teased.
"No," she replied defensively, though the smile widened. "I just know how rare this quiet time is. Trying to appreciate it."
"Uh-huh," he smirked. "Sure."
She nudged him with her foot. "Shut up."
He laughed, and for a while they moved in comfortable silence. The kind of stillness that only came from true peace—not perfection, but partnership.
Eliza reached for her planner on the coffee table, flipping to the upcoming month. "We should start thinking about schools."
Will raised a brow. "Schools? For what, finger-painting and mid-nap snack breaks?"
"She's going to be two in a few months," Eliza said, tapping the edge of her pen against her lip. "Some programs start at two. We want to get a feel for what's out there. I mean, do we go Montessori? Traditional? Do we want language immersion?"
Will blinked. "Wow. You've been Googling again."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course I have. You think I wouldn't do the research?"
"I think you are the research."
"Compliment accepted," she replied smoothly, leaning back against the couch cushions. "But seriously. If we want her to have a gentle, engaging foundation—something stable—we have to start planning. And then there's the schedule. Drop-off, pick-up, making sure it doesn't clash with foundation hours…"
Will leaned his head back with a dramatic sigh. "We're becoming those parents."
"We've always been those parents."
He smiled at her—soft, real. "True."
There was a long pause before Eliza spoke again. Her voice was quiet now, almost cautious.
"Have you thought about when… we'd want to try for another?"
Will's head tilted slightly toward her, eyes catching hers. "You mean besides the day we brought her home and I told you I wanted five more?"
She laughed despite herself. "Yes, besides that. I mean realistically."
He set down the folded laundry and turned fully to face her, one arm stretched across the back of the couch. "Well, the house is definitely big enough. And now that I'm fully trained—"
"Trained?"
"In the fine art of bottle-warming, diaper-wrapping, and emotional damage control, yes." He grinned. "I think I could handle another. Maybe even two."
Eliza narrowed her eyes. "You're getting carried away."
"You say that, but tell me you don't secretly love the idea of a whole crew of mini humans with chaotic curls and dramatic opinions."
She made a face. "God. You mean you, basically?"
"Exactly."
Eliza shook her head, but her expression had softened again, something thoughtful lingering behind her lashes. "Maybe… just one more. A boy this time."
Will looked smug. "Trying to balance the dynamic?"
"Trying to stay sane," she muttered. "Though…"
"Though?"
She hesitated, then said, almost shyly, "If we do have another… can you promise to help make sure at least one of them likes me more than you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," she said, folding her arms. "Lyra worships the ground you walk on. I mean, I carried her, birthed her, fed her, and still she lights up like the Fourth of July when you enter the room. I need backup next time."
Will chuckled, then full-on laughed, warm and unrepentant. "Oh, sweetheart. I don't make the rules. I'm just magnetic."
"I'm serious!" Eliza huffed, half-pouting, half-laughing herself now. "You better help. One of them has to be a mama's baby. I deserve at least that much."
He pulled her gently toward him, pressing a kiss to her temple. "We'll raise a whole crew of them. And don't worry—I'll coach the next one early. 'Mama is the best, say it with me now…'"
"You're the worst."
"You love me."
She did. Even in this chaos of early parenthood, she loved him more deeply than she'd ever thought possible.
They sat there together, imagining a future not too far away. The kind of future with playrooms echoing with laughter, skinned knees and bedtime stories, chaos and warmth and the kind of love that multiplied endlessly.
Somehow, it felt like they'd only just begun.