The chords swelled in the air, soft and deliberate. My fingers moved across the piano keys like they had a mind of their own, tethered to a part of me deeper than thought. The late afternoon sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of our San Diego home, painting the walls in gold.

I closed my eyes and let the words roll out of me, low and full.

The faint creak of the rocking chair reached me—her chair. Always her chair. That warmth filled the room before her voice even did.

A soft sniffle.

I turned my head, still playing. There she was, my girl. My wife. Sitting cross-legged in an oversized hoodie that probably used to be mine, her eyes glistening and her hand covering her mouth like she was trying not to fall apart.

I smiled, even as my own voice wavered under the weight of it.

She caught my gaze and gave me that look—the one that said, “You always do this to me.”

We’ve been through it all. High school sweethearts, married at eighteen when everyone swore we wouldn’t make it. But here we were, still choosing each other every day. She’s my anchor. My muse. A kindergarten teacher who spends her mornings wrangling tiny chaos and her evenings loving us like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

The song wasn’t just for her, though.

It was for the tiny voice that had started humming along upstairs.

Then—tiny bare feet slapping softly down the stairs. A mess of dark curls peeked around the doorway.

"Daddy?"

I paused mid-note, smiling. “Hey, baby girl.”

Sorella Blue Navarro padded into the living room in her mismatched socks and glittery tutu skirt, dragging her stuffed red dinosaur by the tail.

"You were singing my song!" she said with that wide-eyed grin that always made my chest feel too small.

I opened my arms, and she launched herself into them with all three-year-old force. I grunted—pretended it hurt—just to hear her laugh.

“I was. You heard it all the way upstairs, huh?”

She nodded fiercely. “It made my dinosaur happy!" She squeals, hopping up besides me to touch the piano keys.