The evening settled slow and golden, pouring through the windows of their home like honey.
Eliza stood barefoot in the kitchen, stirring the last of the pasta sauce, while Lyra sat at the table painting a butterfly. Will wandered in from the hallway, two empty mugs in hand and a half-teasing, half-thoughtful look in his eyes.
"She's still going strong," he said, nodding toward Lyra. "That's four hours of post-school energy and counting. Should we get her tested for superpowers?"
"Only if you admit she gets them from me," Eliza replied, glancing at him.
"Debatable," he said, placing a kiss on her cheek.
Dinner was simple, messy, filled with laughter and Lyra's proud recounting of how her teacher had pinned her painting on the board today. Afterward, Will gave her a bath while Eliza folded the tiny laundry—one of those quiet domestic routines she'd once never imagined herself enjoying.
But tonight, she found herself smiling as she smoothed a tiny sock flat.
Later, after Lyra was tucked in with her favorite stuffed fox and an extra story, Eliza and Will sat out on the patio, wine glasses in hand, the air soft with summer heat and faint garden scents.
"I've been thinking," Will said.
Eliza tilted her head. "Dangerous."
He smirked. "Very. But hear me out. What if we… tried for another?"
Her eyes softened, but she didn't answer immediately.
"We said we'd wait until things felt settled," she said at last. "And in many ways, they finally do."
Will nodded. "Lyra's happy. Work is manageable. The house is full—but there's still space."
Eliza laughed lightly. "That's exactly what you said last time."
"And I was right."
She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting the silence stretch.
"I was scared back then," she admitted. "Of being a mother. Of failing. Of… loving this much."
He wrapped his arm around her. "And now?"
"Now I still get scared," she whispered. "But it's different. I want to do it again. Just maybe not tonight."
He chuckled. "Fair. But soon?"
She looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. "Soon."
Inside, Lyra's painting still hung on the fridge—the three of them beneath a big bright sun. But when Eliza looked at it now, she could almost imagine a fourth figure added in with uneven strokes. Maybe even a fifth someday.
There was space.
And more love than she ever thought herself capable of.