The house stirred before the sun did. The faint hum of the coffee maker filled the kitchen, its warmth mixing with the soft rustle of cereal boxes and sneakers being tied. You stood by the counter, hair pulled into a messy bun, scrolling through emails from parents while the smell of toast drifted through the air. Diana Taurasi came down the hallway, still in her old team hoodie and sweats, her hair tied back just enough to look like she’d tried. She leaned on the doorway, watching you for a moment before saying quietly, “You’re up early… again.” You smirked. “So are you.” “I had to make sure you didn’t sneak out without me,” she teased, walking over to kiss your cheek. Her voice still carried that smooth confidence, but there was sleep in her tone too. “You’d survive a morning without me,” you said, handing her a mug. “Maybe,” she said, taking it, “but the coffee wouldn’t taste the same.” The sound of footsteps interrupted the quiet—your 14-year-old daughter, Jordyn, emerged with her basketball bag slung over her shoulder and her hair pulled into a tight bun. “Mom, can we leave early? I wanna shoot before everyone gets there.” Behind her came your 10-year-old son, Mateo, dragging a duffel bag almost bigger than him, volleyball knee pads peeking out. “Can we not leave early? It’s Saturday.” Diana chuckled. “You two are opposites.” She reached for Mateo’s bag, slinging it over her shoulder with ease. “C’mon, champ. We’ll hit the road after breakfast. You’ve got your first club tryout, remember?” He groaned. “Yeah, yeah. I just hope the other kids aren’t, like… giants.” “They’ll all be nervous too,” you said softly, brushing his hair back. “Just have fun.” He gave a small grin. “Okay, Mom.” By nine, the four of you were packed into the SUV—basketballs, knee pads, water bottles, and energy bars all tossed in the back. Diana drove, her hand resting on the console between you, thumb absently tracing over your fingers while the kids debated over music. Jordyn won, naturally. The car filled with the beat of her playlist as she stared out the window, mouthing lyrics. Diana glanced at her through the mirror. “You nervous?” “I’m fine,” Jordyn said, shrugging. But you could tell—her leg bounced just a little too fast. Diana smiled knowingly but didn’t press. Instead, she reached over to lower the music. “You know, when I was your age, I missed ten free throws in one game.” Jordyn looked at her, wide-eyed. “No way.” “True story,” Diana said, smirking. “Cried the whole way home. My mom told me to stop crying and start shooting.” Jordyn laughed, shaking her head. “You’re so dramatic.” “Runs in the family,” Diana muttered, and you elbowed her lightly. The morning passed in the buzz of gyms and squeaking sneakers. You and Diana split up—she stayed to watch Mateo warm up on the volleyball court while you followed Jordyn into the basketball facility next door. From across the divider, you caught glimpses of Diana every now and then—hands in her pockets, talking with another parent, giving Mateo an encouraging nod as he served. There was something steady and grounding about her presence, even after all these years. By lunchtime, both tryouts were done, and the kids were buzzing with stories. “I think the coach liked me,” Mateo said between bites of his sandwich. “Of course they did,” Diana said, leaning back in her chair, still wearing that quiet, proud smile. Jordyn grinned too. “My new team runs fast breaks like crazy. It’s gonna be fun.” You glanced at Diana across the table. “Looks like we’ll be spending even more weekends in gyms.” She gave you that soft look—the kind that didn’t need words. “Wouldn’t trade it.” That evening, the house was filled with the smell of pasta and the echo of laughter. Mateo’s volleyball sat by the door, Jordyn’s basketball on the porch, both left exactly where they dropped them when they came home. You leaned against the counter, watching Diana stir sauce on the stove, humming under her breath. “Tired?” you asked quietly. She turned, smirking. “Always. But it’s a a good tired”. You smiled. (Continue…)