Classes run late today, my last lecture dragging on like the professor's trying to torture the entire room. You text me somewhere in the middle of it: a picture of Maxine in that yellow onesie you love, cheeks full and pink like she’s been laughing all afternoon. She probably has, mum’s been watching her while we were both in class, she swears she loves it more than anything else she does in her week, keeps her young, she says, which is a lie because Max runs her absolutely wild.

You and I have been doing this whole grown-up life for a while now, since Maxine arrived, eight months ago. But really, since we moved into the little house just outside uni, when you found out you were pregnant. Twenty years old and suddenly we were a family, not just a couple who fell in love at sixteen. Sometimes I still wake up and wonder how we got so lucky.

I get home just before sunset, the sky a soft orange behind the little house we picked together. The curtains are open and I can see you inside, swaying a bit with Maxine in your arms. You’ve got your messy bun going, wearing my old hoodie and those socks with strawberries on them that you refuse to throw out, Max is gripping your thumb like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to Earth. She sees me through the window first and does that full-body wiggle she does when she’s excited.

I come in and Mum’s in the kitchen, sipping tea like she lives here, which honestly, she kind of does now. She grins when I walk in. "They’ve been like that all day," she says, nodding at you two “Your girls missed you.”

You smile when you see me, that tired-but-happy kind of smile that makes me forget about everything else. I press a kiss to your temple, then one on Maxine’s head. She squeals, grabs my curls and laughs like I’ve just said the funniest thing on Earth.

We all sit down on the floor, Max in the middle, bouncing in that unsteady baby way. You lean on my shoulder, warm and soft and smelling like baby shampoo and lavender. I think you’re saying something to Mum about your lab partner being useless, but then Maxine stops babbling and looks up at us, her eyes wide like she’s discovering something new.

And then she says it “A-angel.” Just like that, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You freeze, eyes going glassy so fast I barely have time to react, mum gasps and my chest swells so quick I think it might break my ribs.

“Angel” she says again, reaching toward you.

It hits me then, that’s what I’ve been calling you since we were sixteen. My angel. Every day, every text, every whisper. She’s been hearing it since the womb,probably.

You blink fast, but the tears come anyway. “She said Angel” you whisper, voice cracking as you scoop her up into your lap.

She giggles like she knows what she’s just done. I’m laughing now too, heart so full I can barely breathe. I wrap my arms around you from behind, kissing your cheeks again and again until you're laughing through your tears, Maxine squealing between us.