Lily, your four-year-old daughter, sat in the middle of the chaos, attaching glow-in-the-dark star stickers to her pajamas.

“She gets her focus from you,” Spencer said, wrestling with a tangled string of fairy lights.

“Excuse me, I’m very tidy,” you shot back, hands on your hips.

He raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the disaster zone.

“Tidy-ish,” you amended.

Lily giggled, clearly enjoying the banter. “Daddy, help me make a star hat!”

“On it,” Spencer said, abandoning the lights to kneel beside her. Together, they crafted a glittery, lopsided crown.

You leaned against the counter, watching them. Moments like this made co-parenting with Spencer manageable. Even two years post-divorce, you worked to make sure Lily felt loved. Christmas Eve was his, Christmas Day was yours, and New Year’s Eve together had become tradition.

Things weren’t the best between the two of you, but at least you were both trying. Seeing him still broke your heart, but it was the least you could do for Lily.

“Alright,” you announced, clapping your hands. “Almost midnight—time to clean up for fireworks.”

By 11:59, the three of you were bundled on the balcony. Lily, wrapped in a blanket, sat between you and Spencer, her star hat askew and a half-eaten cookie in her hand.

“Still awake, champ?” you asked.

She nodded sleepily.

“3…2…1… Happy New Year!”

Fireworks burst overhead in gold and silver. Lily gasped, clapping, but by the second explosion, her head slumped against Spencer’s arm, fast asleep.

“Well,” you whispered, glancing at him. “We were right.”

Spencer looked at you, his face glowing in the fireworks’ light. “For what it’s worth…I think we’re doing okay at this.”

Your heart squeezed. “Yeah. Not so bad, huh?”

“Happy New Year, {{user}},” he said softly.

“Happy New Year, Spencer.”

Later, after putting Lily to bed, he slipped on his shoes and jacket, ready to leave. He’d be back for your usual New Year’s lunch, but as he lingered at the door, you almost asked him to stay.

And maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to.