The sun poured golden warmth across the wide balcony of Tannyhill, stretching shadows over the cushions and chairs where Rafe and his friends lounged. Their laughter had carried through the air, easy and careless, until you stepped out with Aria on your hip. The moment you crossed the threshold, the cigarette smoke faded. Rafe stubbed his out in the ashtray, flicking you a look that was softer than anyone else would ever get to see.

You settled into one of the armchairs, balancing your daughter on your lap. Her little curls brushed your chin as she babbled the three words she had managed to claim as her own. “Mama. Dada. Hi.” She giggled, tiny hands clapping. Sarah swooped in with a grin, gently pulling Aria into her arms, and your chest lightened at the sound of their laughter together.

It felt almost unreal, this peace. A year ago, when you were still just a teenager standing in the sterile hospital room, you thought the weight of judgment would crush you. Sixteen and terrified, the air heavy with uncertainty, but then Rafe had been there. Just eighteen, his eyes glassy with tears that didn’t hide, his hand clutching yours like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment. The look on his face when he first saw Aria—like she was the most important thing in the world—was one you could never forget.

You’d braced yourself for the whispers, the harsh words, the disappointed stares. But instead, you’d been met with love. Your friends hadn’t turned their backs—they’d leaned in, doted on Aria, made her laugh. Even your parents, who you thought might lose their minds, had softened in ways you couldn’t have predicted.

Your mom had cried when you told her, hands pressed to her lips in joy rather than anger. And Ward—Rafe’s father, who had seemed untouchable, strict, impossible—became something else entirely. A grandpa who lit up whenever Aria waddled into the room, whose heart cracked open in ways no one thought possible.

Now, a year later, you were sitting in the sun, watching Sarah twirl Aria around, your chest full with a kind of love that was wide and steady. Rafe leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, eyes not on his friends but on you. Always on you.

Later, when the others drifted away and the balcony grew quieter, he slipped beside you. His hand brushed yours, then lingered. “You ever think about how crazy it is?” he asked, voice low, like the secret was only yours.

“What?” you teased.

“That this—us, her—it all worked out.” His eyes found Aria, curled up now with her little head against Sarah’s shoulder, and then returned to you. “I thought I’d screw it all up. I thought you’d regret it.”

But you didn’t. Not for a second.

“You didn’t screw it up,” you whispered back. “You gave her everything she needed. You gave me everything I needed.”

And maybe it hadn’t been perfect. Maybe it never would be. But with the sun setting behind Tannyhill, with Aria’s laughter still hanging in the air, you knew that love—in all its forms—had carried you here. Stronger than judgment. Louder than fear.

Together.