The house felt quiet after the buzz of laughter and footsteps from the cabin getaway. The moment they walked through the front door, the familiar scent of home—linen and faint jasmine—wrapped around them like a comforting blanket.
Will dropped the bags by the door with a tired sigh and looked down at Lyra, still half-asleep in his arms, her cheek nestled against his shoulder.
"She didn't even stir in the car," Eliza murmured, her fingers brushing a stray curl from her daughter's face. "She had too much fun being queen of the mountain."
"She takes after you," Will said, leaning in to kiss Eliza's temple. "Bossy, fearless, stubborn about picking every single flower on the hiking trail."
"And you're saying that like it's a bad thing?"
"I'm saying I'm in trouble if the next one's the same."
Eliza smiled tiredly and leaned against his side as they stepped into the living room together, the warmth of their home seeping into her bones. After so many nights in a cabin filled with noisy kids and shared bathrooms, it felt luxurious just to hear the creak of their own floorboards again.
Later, with Lyra tucked into her bed, limbs sprawled in toddler abandon and one of her new plush toys hugged tightly against her chest, Eliza and Will sat in their kitchen. It was late, the lights dimmed, and only the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the space between them.
Will handed her a steaming mug of chamomile tea. "We should do it more often."
"The trip?"
He nodded. "Spontaneous time with friends. Watching the kids scream over a frog like it was a dragon. It made me feel... grateful."
Eliza looked down at her tea. "I didn't realize how much I needed it until we were there."
Will studied her face. "You've been carrying a lot lately. I know the Foundation's next phase is huge. But when you're tired, Eliza, you don't have to keep proving you can hold the whole world together on your own."
A long breath left her lungs, slow and a little shaky. "I know. I just… sometimes I still feel like I have to. Like I'll fall behind if I don't."
Will reached across the table and linked his fingers with hers. "You built the life you wanted. It's okay to live in it now."
The words struck something soft in her chest, and she nodded, eyes misty. "I'm trying."
"I see that," he said quietly. "And I love you for it."
They didn't talk much more that night. They just sat—hand in hand, tea growing cold, the peace of their home wrapping around them like a cocoon.
And when they finally slipped into bed, with the moonlight spilling across their sheets and the quiet breaths of their daughter in the next room, Eliza felt something she hadn't let herself feel in weeks.
Stillness.
And a kind of safety she knew she'd spent her entire life reaching for—and finally found, not in power or plans, but in the messy, beautiful rhythm of their family.