Days when Thomas was moody and sullen. When Marcus pushed boundaries. When Sophieie had meltdowns over things that seemed small but felt huge to her eight-year-old heart. Days when Lena questioned if she was doing anything right. If she was enough for these kids who'd already lost so much.
Adrien was there for all of it, reminding her that she didn't have to be perfect. That showing up was enough. You know what the kids told me last week? He said one night after a particularly rough day. They said they couldn't imagine life without you.
That you make everything better. They said that. Thomas said you make the house feel less empty. Marcus said you're the only person besides me who actually listens when he talks. And Sophieie, he smiled.
Sophieie said you make the best pancakes and you give the best hugs and you never make her feel stupid for being scared. Lena's throat tightened. I'm not trying to replace Catherine. I know and they know that, too. But that doesn't mean there isn't room for you.
He pulled her close. Catherine was their mother. She always will be. But you're the person who's here now, loving them, raising them. That matters just as much.
2 years after that December night in the bus shelter, Lena stood in the kitchen making breakfast while chaos erupted around her. Sophieie had lost her favorite shoes. Marcus was complaining about a test. Thomas was practicing piano too loud and too early. Adrien came downstairs looking half asleep, grabbed coffee, and kissed her cheek.
"Morning," he mumbled. "Morning! Your daughter can't find her shoes." "Which daughter?" The question was casual, but it stopped Lena cold.
She turned to look at him. "Sophieie," she said. "I meant Sophieie." "I know who you meant." He smiled.
"Just making sure you did." The shoes were found under Sophieie's bed. naturally and the morning rush commenced. Lena herded everyone toward the door, made sure backpacks were packed, reminded Thomas about his piano lesson after school. When they were finally gone and the house fell quiet, she stood in the kitchen looking at the mess they'd left behind. Dishes in the sink, backpacks on the floor, Sophieie's art project still drying on the counter, evidence of life, of family, of belonging.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Adrien. Forgot to tell you Sophieie's teacher wants to meet next week. Something about her reading level being advanced. Can you handle it?
She typed back. Of course. Another buzz. You're the best. Love you.
Love you, too. Lena sat down her phone and looked at the ring on her finger. Thought about the woman who'd believed her life was over because one man told her she was broken. That woman had been wrong about so much. Being unable to have biological children hadn't made her worthless.