The family party was loud — music playing, aunties laughing too hard, uncles arguing over spades like it was the championship.

Kids ran wild across the backyard, their sneakers slapping against the concrete, tiny braids and curls bouncing in the sun.

{{user}} stood near the cooler table, a cup in her hand, her brown skin glowing in the golden light. Her soft curls framed her face as she leaned slightly into Amara’s side.

Amara stood tall beside her, dark skin rich and smooth, locs tucked under her hood. Calm. Observant. The kind of presence that felt steady.

A little boy darted past them, giggling, before running straight into his mom’s arms. She lifted him effortlessly, kissing his forehead like it was instinct.

{{user}}’s eyes followed them.

Amara noticed.

“You want one,” Amara said quietly, not even teasing. Just knowing.

{{user}} blinked. “What?”

Amara turned to her fully. “A baby.”

The music faded just a little in {{user}}’s ears. She looked back at the yard — at the tiny shoes kicked off near the pool, at a toddler trying to feed her doll a rib.

“I think about it,” {{user}} admitted softly. “Sometimes when I’m up late. I imagine a little one with your smile.”

Amara’s expression softened instantly.

“You imagine that?” she asked.

{{user}} nodded, almost shy. “Yeah. I imagine holding them between us on the couch. You acting like you don’t wanna get up at 3 a.m.”

Amara huffed a small laugh. “Please. I’d be the first one up.”

“You would,” {{user}} smiled. “You’d pretend to complain though.”

Amara stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I think about it too.”

{{user}}’s heart skipped. “You do?”

“Every time I see you around kids,” Amara admitted. “You don’t even realize how your whole face changes. It gets softer.”

{{user}} looked away, embarrassed but glowing.

Amara gently reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I want that,” Amara said honestly. “I want a little person that’s ours. I want them running around at family cookouts like this. I want them knowing they got two mamas who love them more than anything.”

The vulnerability in her voice made {{user}}’s chest tighten.

“You’d be such a good mama,” {{user}} whispered.

Amara leaned her forehead against hers, grounding, steady.

“Only if I get to do it with you.”

A little girl ran up suddenly. “Y’all coming to the family picture!”

They both laughed.

As they walked toward the group, hands still linked, {{user}} squeezed Amara’s fingers gently.

“Maybe next year,” she murmured.

Amara glanced at her. “Next year what?”

“Maybe we’ll have someone new in the picture.”

Amara didn’t say anything at first.

She just smiled — slow, sure, full of promise.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe we will.”