The house was still.
Toys had been picked up. Plates were washed and stacked. The remains of birthday decorations swayed gently in the night breeze wafting through the open patio doors. All that remained now was the soft, rhythmic ticking of the kitchen clock and the glow of amber lamplight that pooled in the living room.
Eliza sat curled up on the sofa, legs tucked under her, holding a steaming mug of chamomile tea in both hands. She wore one of Will's old shirts, oversized and worn at the collar, the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms. The day had been perfect—but exhausting.
Will stepped in from the hallway, his voice low. "She's out cold."
"She didn't even stir when I kissed her goodnight earlier," Eliza murmured, eyes distant with affection. "Like she knew it had been a big day and she didn't want to miss a moment of it."
Will sat beside her, placing his arm across the back of the couch. His other hand stole her mug just long enough for a sip before handing it back.
"She's growing fast."
"I know," Eliza said softly. "Some nights I still wake up half expecting her to be in that bassinet beside me, barely breathing, wrapped in that yellow swaddle with her nose all crumpled."
Will chuckled quietly. "She still crumples her nose when she laughs. Just like you do."
"Do not," she said with a mock glare.
"Do too," he whispered, leaning in and brushing his lips across her cheek. "It's my favorite part."
Eliza exhaled, the long kind of breath that carried both peace and a subtle ache. "You ever think about what comes next?"
He tilted his head. "You mean besides turning into a taxi driver when she hits five and starts gymnastics or baby martial arts?"
She smiled but didn't laugh.
"No," she said, "I mean… for us."
Will stilled slightly. "You mean work? The foundation?"
Eliza shook her head, then slowly looked up at him. "Life. Family. Where we want to go from here. I know we've said 'maybe someday' a few times now about having another baby… but I can't lie. Seeing her today, watching her light up around all those people who love her—I kept thinking… I want to do it again. Just once more."
His smile was slow, soft.
"Yeah?" he asked.
Eliza nodded, eyes glimmering. "But this time," she added, "you have to make sure one of them ends up a mama's baby."
Will leaned closer, his voice a teasing whisper, "I'll do my best, but I can't make any promises. They tend to know who the fun parent is."
Eliza elbowed him gently. "I'll let that slide because I'm tired."
He pulled her into him, letting her rest her head against his chest. The quiet stretched between them again—comforting, familiar. Outside, a breeze picked up, rustling the last of the streamers. The day had ended, the candles were blown out, and the cake was long gone.
But the warmth remained.
Will kissed the top of her head. "Two years," he murmured. "And I'd do it all again. From the start. Even the sleepless nights."
She smiled against his chest. "Especially the sleepless nights."
Their eyes drifted toward the framed photo on the mantel—taken earlier that day. The three of them by the cake, Lyra mid-laugh, frosting on her chin. A perfect freeze-frame of everything they never knew they wanted, and now couldn't imagine living without.