Chapter 17
The rain had started sometime after sunset.
It tapped lazily against the tall windows lining the back of Seraphina’s living room, the sound faint beneath soft music playing from unseen speakers. The house itself felt hushed in the way only large homes ever did at night.
The two-story home sat tucked behind wrought iron gates and thick hedges, the kind of place that never quite revealed itself from the street.
Inside, warm lighting reflected off hardwood floors and pale walls accented with dark trim.
Everything was placed and designed intentionally, from the carefully arranged furniture to the soft ambient lighting that warmed the space.
The living room itself carried a faint scent of lavender and wine, subtle and lingering, like the night had already been unfolding for hours.
Seraphina sat at the center of it all. Her heels had been kicked off near the doorway hours ago, legs crossed on the ivory sectional, silk blouse loosened just enough at the collar to signal she was off the clock.
Her dark hair fell freely over one shoulder, glossy and deliberate even when unstyled.
She held her wine glass loosely between two fingers, elbow resting against the back of the couch as she listened more than she spoke.
It was a habit she’d carried for as long as she could remember—listening more than speaking.
Not out of shyness, or fear, or a need to let others dominate the conversation.
She was perfectly fine speaking—she could lead boardroom meetings for hundreds without a flicker of nerves.
She simply wasn’t naturally talkative, preferring to weigh her words and speak when it truly mattered.
Across from Seraphina, Scarlett had claimed the armchair closest to the fireplace, heels discarded beside it, legs stretched long. Her jacket lay slung over the back like she’d dropped it without thought. One hand rested loosely around a glass she’d already refilled twice.
Nadia sat curled into the corner of the sofa, knees tucked beneath her, engagement ring flashing whenever she gestured. She’d kicked her shoes off neatly by the coffee table. Typical Nadia. Always organized, even at rest.
The three hadn’t met through shared classes or similar ambitions. In college, their lives barely overlapped on paper.
They’d met the way most lasting friendships did. Accidentally.
Seraphina lived in design studios and critique rooms, building a future with clean lines and sharper vision.
Scarlett lived in the law building, sharp-tongued and already arguing with professors like it was court.
Nadia moved quietly through education courses, patient even then, working two part-time jobs and tutoring anyone who needed help.
The years had only sharpened their bond. Careers rose. Lives expanded. Responsibilities multiplied. But when they were together like this, shoes off and guards lowered, the history between them lingered like muscle memory.
“I swear,” Nadia was saying, “if one more vendor tells me they’re ‘booked but flexible,’ I’m going to lose my mind.”
Scarlett smirked. “That’s wedding industry code for ‘pay me more and I’ll suddenly remember I’m free."
Seraphina hummed softly. “Accurate.”
Nadia groaned, tipping her head back. “I just wanted a simple timeline. I didn’t think that was unreasonable.”
“It’s not,” Seraphina said. “It’s just incompatible with weddings.”
Scarlett lifted her glass. “Weddings are capitalism in a lace veil.”
Nadia laughed despite herself. “You’re not wrong.”
She shifted on the couch, sitting more upright now. “But I am excited. Genuinely.”
Scarlett glanced over. “You’ve been excited since the proposal.”
“Because I didn’t panic,” Nadia replied. “That’s how I knew.”
Seraphina’s gaze flicked toward her, faint amusement in her eyes.
Scarlett nodded slowly. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
Nadia smiled. “Every other relationship I had this low-grade anxiety humming all the time. Like I was waiting for something to crack.”
“And with Michael, nothing,” Nadia said simply. “It’s quiet. In a good way.”
Scarlett took a slow sip of her drink.
“I just don’t like uncertainty,” Nadia added.
Scarlett snorted. “You did once.”
Nadia arched a brow. “We don’t talk about him.”
“Exactly.”
Nadia continued, voice lighter now. “I keep waiting for the stress to outweigh the excitement, but it hasn’t yet. I catch myself looking at venues and thinking, he’s going to stand there waiting for me. And that just feels… right.”
Seraphina nodded once. “That’s usually how you know.”
Scarlett tilted her head. “You’re not nervous?”
“About the marriage?” Nadia shrugged.
“No, about the wedding.”
Nadia grimaced. “Ask me again in a few months.”
A shared smile passed between them.
“I actually like planning it,” Nadia admitted. “Not the seating charts. Not the budgeting. But choosing things with him. Music. Food. Even the stupid napkin colors.”
It made her chest feel warm and steady, like this—planning together—was exactly where she belonged. “Yeah,” she said softly, “that’s what it feels like.”
The fire popped softly as the rain continued to slide down the windows in slow, uneven trails.
After a moment, Scarlett said, “His vows are going to destroy you.”
Nadia rolled her eyes. “He cried during a dog food commercial.”
Seraphina smiled into her glass.
“He’s practicing,” Nadia added. “I caught him whispering to himself in the kitchen a couple of weeks ago," Nadia stopped, suddenly letting out a soft chuckle. "And just yesterday, he was on his computer game thing, and I overheard him rehearsing some lines with his buddy on the mic.”
Scarlett laughed. “You’re never letting him live that down.”
“Absolutely not.”
They fell into comfortable quiet for a few seconds.
Then Scarlett spoke again, casually. “Your mom behaving?”
Nadia sighed. “Mostly.”
“High praise.”
“She’s convinced the guest list needs to include people I haven’t seen since I was eight.”
Scarlett winced. “Dangerous age.”
“I told her if they don’t know my middle name, they’re not invited.”
Seraphina nodded approvingly. “Reasonable boundary.”
Nadia smiled. “Michael backed me up. Which helped.”
“Good man,” Scarlett said.
“He really is.”
All of a sudden, Nadia leaned forward, reaching for something on the coffee table.
“Interesting pen choice, Phina,” she said, lifting it into view.
The pen was light pink, slim, a small white flower sealed around the clip. It looked almost delicate in Nadia’s hand. Entirely out of place among the black folders on the table and the warm muted tones of Seraphina’s living room.
Seraphina reached for it immediately, fingers closing around the pen as she drew it back. “Careful,” she said evenly.
Nadia blinked once, surprised, then smiled softly. “Easy. I’m not poking fun.”
She tilted her head, studying it with quiet amusement. “It’s cute. A nice change from your usual… black, silver, or aggressively expensive aesthetic.”
Seraphina settled back into the cushions. “It’s a pen.”
“Mhm,” Scarlett murmured from her chair.
Seraphina rolled her eyes, absently twirling the pen between her fingers. Only then did she seem to realize how tightly she was holding it. Her grip loosened.
“It works well,” she added, tone calmer now.
Nadia’s smile lingered. “I never said it didn’t.”
A faint smile tugged at Seraphina’s mouth despite herself, small and unguarded, before she schooled it away again.
Conversation drifted naturally after that. From venue logistics to honeymoon planning. From floral arrangements to the unspoken relief of knowing the marriage mattered more than the spectacle. Eventually it slid, as it always did, into work.
Scarlett glanced toward Nadia. “How’s the classroom holding up?”
Nadia let out a slow breath. “It’s the first month. Everyone’s fried.”
She shifted on the couch, tucking one leg beneath her. “Summer wrecks their routines. Different sleep, different noise, different people. Then they come back, and we expect them to adjust overnight.”
Seraphina watched her over the rim of her glass.
“We’ve already had assemblies, testing prep, and three fire drills,” Nadia continued. “One was during math. That went about as well as you’d expect.”
Scarlett winced softly.
“They try,” Nadia said. “They really do. But by the time lunch hits, you can see it in their faces. They’re holding everything in place with duct tape.”
She paused. “One of my kids stopped talking last week.”
“Not nonverbal,” Nadia added. “Just overwhelmed. He writes instead. Or taps twice when he needs something.”
Scarlett frowned. “Poor kid.”
“We’re slowing everything down,” Nadia said. “Same seat. Same schedule. Same music during transitions. Predictability keeps them steady.”
Her shoulders slumped a little. “I’m not burnt out. Just… September tired.”
Seraphina nodded once. She knew that exhaustion. The kind that settled quietly and stayed.
“There’s a new student too,” Nadia added after a moment.
“Very observant. Jumps at sudden noise. Watches people more than she talks.”
Something subtle tightened in Seraphina’s chest.
“She’ll be okay,” Nadia said. “She just needs time.”
Seraphina nodded once.
She’d heard versions of this story before. Over dinners. Long drives. Late nights when Nadia talked herself hoarse about sensory overload and shutdowns and the way noise could fracture someone from the inside out.
She’s recently been doing a bit of reading on the topic herself. Enough to recognize the pattern when she saw it.
Nadia turned toward Seraphina. “How’s the company?”
Seraphina took a measured sip before answering. “Busy. Promising. Exhausting.”
“The trifecta,” Scarlett said.
“Floor six is still under renovation,” Seraphina added.
Nadia laughed. “How long has that been under construction now?”
“Not too long, just a few weeks.”
They talked about staffing. Expansion. Investor meetings. Travel fatigue. The strange loneliness that came with success.
They’d all lived versions of it.
Outside, the rain slowed.
Inside, the warmth lingered as the night stetched open before them, unhurried
Scarlett broke the calm first.
She leaned sideways in her chair, eyes flicking toward Seraphina with a grin that already promised trouble.
“You know,” she said casually, “I’ve known you for years now.”
Seraphina hummed, swirling the wine in her glass.
“And in all that time,” Scarlett continued, “I've only known you to be in two serious relationships.”
Seraphina rolled her eyes without even looking at her. “That’s because you’re dramatic.”
Scarlett scoffed. “I’m observant.”
“You once accused a woman of being emotionally distant because she ordered her coffee iced,” Seraphina replied smoothly.
Scarlett lifted a finger. “She was emotionally distant.”
Nadia laughed softly.
Scarlett leaned back, undeterred. “Seriously. You’re beautiful, rich, terrifyingly confident, and you live in a house that looks like it belongs in a magazine. Men flirt with you—not that you care about that— and women stare at you. But yet?” She gestured vaguely. “Nothing.”
Seraphina took a slow sip of her wine.
"On top of all that, you're french," Scarlett added.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Seraphina questioned.
"It’s sexy. People love french women." Scarlett answered.
“I’m selective,” Seraphina said simply after a brief moment of silence.
Scarlett smirked. “You’re allergic to commitment?”
Seraphina’s gaze slid to her at last. “I’m allergic to wasting my time.”
That earned a laugh from Nadia.
“Maybe,” Nadia said gently, “she’s just waiting for the right person.”
Scarlett tilted her head. “You say that like they’re mythical.”
Nadia shrugged. “Phina’s always been intentional.”
She glanced at her friend. “She’s said before she doesn't date casually.”
Seraphina inclined her head once.
“I don’t.”
Scarlett raised a brow. “Why not? Casual can be fun.”
“Fun isn’t fulfilling,” Seraphina replied.
Scarlett opened her mouth to argue, then stopped.
Nadia watched Seraphina carefully. “You now date to marry.”
It wasn’t a question.
Seraphina’s fingers tightened slightly around her glass.
“Yes.”
The room quieted, the teasing dimming into something more thoughtful.
Seraphina leaned back into the sofa, green eyes drifting toward the fireplace as her thoughts pulled inward.
She didn’t have time for meaningless connections.
She’d tried them once. Years ago. Polished smiles across candlelit tables. Conversations that skimmed the surface. Hands that touched without understanding. People who wanted her presence but not her depth.
It had left her hollow.
Love, to her, wasn’t something light or impulsive.
It was choosing someone even when it was inconvenient. It was safety and fire braided together. It was knowing someone’s shadows and still stepping closer.
She wanted intimacy that reached bone-deep. The kind that changed the way you breathed and didn’t fade when passion quieted, but instead deepened.
She didn’t want someone who fit into her life neatly.
She wanted someone who belonged there.
Seraphina believed fiercely in women building empires. In ambition. In chasing dreams until your hands shook and your heart raced with it. She had done exactly that herself.
If her future partner wanted to climb and conquer, she would stand beside her proudly. Support her. Fund her. Celebrate every victory.
But in her most honest moments, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she knew there was something else stirring, a feeling almost primal in her chest.
In a perfect world…
She would adore having a stay-at-home wife.
Not someone bound to cleaning lists or chores not chosen.
Not someone reduced to labor like a slave.
She wanted a partner who was free to exist, to follow curiosity or rest without guilt, because Seraphina carried the weight beyond their walls.
Bills. Decisions. The world itself. All of it would be hers to handle.
The appeal wasn’t control for control’s sake. It was constancy. Being the shelter when everything else turned sharp. Knowing that if chaos came crashing down, she could absorb it entirely and leave her partner untouched by the worst of it.
Her wife could wake without a plan, spend the day however she pleased, unburdened by necessity.
And all the while, Seraphina would provide.
Protect. Anticipate. Quietly shape the edges of their world, nudging, guiding, keeping it safe.
The thought that she could be indispensable in someone’s life thrilled her in a way that bordered on obsession—a delicious, possessive certainty she hadn’t allowed herself before.
Seraphina practically salivated at the thought.
The warmth curled low in her stomach, deliberate, indulgent, dangerous in the way only longing that could be acted on ever was.
It was protective, yes—but also dominant in the way she held her heart: meticulous, unyielding, fully aware that love could consume her if she let it.
She imagined coming home after a long day of work to find the woman she loved unburdened, whole, waiting.
Knowing she had built the space for that ease.
That relief. That quiet, unspoken trust. And the thought that her presence could guide someone so completely, sent a shiver of need through her.
Being relied on wasn’t a burden—it was the point.
Seraphina didn’t want to rule from above.
She wanted to lead from the center. To be a steady presence at her partner’s back, the decision-maker, relied on without hesitation.
A presence that would quietly absorb the storms that inevitably came—devotion that was precise, meticulous, and, yes, a little relentless, because love, when it mattered, deserved nothing less.
It wasn’t about power. It was about devotion and the dangerous satisfaction of being someone’s anchor.
The quiet assurance that, no matter what, they were safe, grounded, and entirely hers to protect.
That her word carried weight—not through force, but through certainty, through presence, through care.
That small, obsessive edge that crept in when she loved someone—always ensuring, always watching, always tending—made the idea intoxicating.
And she knew that edge, if untamed, could become both her greatest strength and her undoing.
She exhaled slowly, letting the thought stretch fully before letting herself return to the present.
Scarlett was watching her with narrowed eyes.
“Where were you just now?” she questioned.
Seraphina rolled her eyes.
“You're staring into the fire like a woman in a romance novel,” Scarlett continued.
Seraphina scoffed lightly. “I was thinking.”
“That’s usually when it happens,” Scarlett replied.
Nadia smiled softly at her. “You’ll find her.”
Seraphina didn’t answer right away. She just lifted her glass again, gaze calm, assured. “I’m not worried,” she said.
Scarlett smirked. “Confident.”
“I’m patient,” Seraphina corrected.
Because when she did fall in love, it wouldn’t be accidental.
It would be inevitable.
"You know speaking about dating... I saw something quite intresting the other day," Scarlett said.
"Don't even start. We've heard about your neighbor's not knowing how to close their curtains far too many times now," Nadia voiced.
"I wasn't talking about that," Scarlett rolled her eyes, "I was talking about our precious Phina-bean over here."
"Don't call me that," Seraphina scolded.
"Anyways," Scarlett brushed her off, "I went out to dinner a few nights ago with some colleagues, and guess who I saw having dinner with a mysterious woman?"
Seraphina briefly froze before collecting herself.
Nadia turned her head so quickly to look at the woman, she nearly got whiplash.
"You were on a date?" Nadia questioned, genuinely shocked.
"Who said anything about a date?" Seraphina asked.
"I saw it with my own eyes Phina, don't even try to deny it," Scarlett mocked.
Seraphina let out a deep sigh. "It wasn't a date, I was simply enjoying dinner with someone."
"Mhm," Scarlett hummed, "And is there any particular reason as to why this someone was so attractive? Or why you were opening all of this someones doors?"
She paused, eyes flicking briefly toward Seraphina. “And... she looked quite young.”
Seraphina’s gaze sharpened instantly.
Scarlett’s lips twitched.
“Oh relax,” she added breezily. “I’m not judging. I’m just… surprised.”
“Surprised by what?” Seraphina asked coolly.
Scarlett leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “By the sudden shift in brand.”
“I don’t have a brand.”
“You absolutely do,” Scarlett said. “Sharp. Decisive. Emotionally unavailable with strong opinions and terrifying eye contact.”
Nadia nodded without thinking. “That’s accurate.”
Scarlett snapped her fingers. “Exactly. And then suddenly I look across a restaurant and you’re sitting there opening doors like a Victorian gentleman for someone who looks like she still gets carded at movie theaters.”
Seraphina’s jaw tightened.
“She does not look underage,” Seraphina said flatly.
“I didn’t say underage,” Scarlett replied smoothly. “I said young.”
She smiled wider. “There’s a difference. One’s illegal. The other is… concerning for your established pattern. Do you like them young, now that you're getting older?”
Nadia pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.
Scarlett continued, entirely pleased with herself. “I almost didn’t recognize you. No phone. No emails. No thousand-yard CEO stare. You were relaxed.”
“I’m allowed to relax,” Seraphina said calmly.
“Sure,” Scarlett nodded. “I just didn’t know relaxing for you now includes buying dinner for adorable strangers. I could literally see the girls' dimples from across the restaurant.”
Seraphina shot her a warning look.
Nadia finally spoke. “Scar, you’re antagonizing her on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
Seraphina exhaled slowly through her nose. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
Scarlett’s smile turned feral. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to do something even remotely questionable.”
“And what exactly was questionable?”
“Phina,” Scarlett said gently, mockingly. “You don’t do spontaneous dinners with cute strangers. You barely do spontaneous lunches with us.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means,” Scarlett replied, leaning forward slightly, “either you’re having a late-onset rebellion… or you’re about to become someone’s very intimidating sugar mommy.”
Nadia choked on her drink.
Seraphina blinked once. “…A what?”
Scarlett grinned wider. “See, that reaction alone tells me everything.”
“I mean really,” she continued cheerfully, “you’re wealthy, you’re terrifying, you probably paid for dinner without even looking at the check. That’s basically step one.”
"And holding the door?" Scarlett said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Classic caretaker instinct. Subtle, commanding... the kind of thing someone like you can't help but do."
Seraphina shot the woman a glare that effectively shut her up immediately.
"Okay, that's enough, Scar," Nadia intervened, trying to prevent a murder from happening.
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re deflecting,” Scarlett said casually.
Seraphina simpy stared at the two. She wasn't exactly mad, more annoyed with what Scarlett was implying.
"You don't know what you're talking about, nor do you know anything about what you saw that night," Seraphina calmly stated.
Scarlett just simply sat there, her smirk growing by the second.
"Then tell me," Scarlett purred, "what exactly was I looking at Seraphina?"
Seraphina exhaled once, measured, and then spoke.
She told them everything. From the first unexpected encounter with Elowyn, to the way the freckled girl had nearly collided with her in the hallway.
The nervous apologies. The clumsy hands.
The way she’d kept losing her place while trying to organize the bookshelf in Seraphina’s office, rearranging titles with intense concentration as if the task itself were anchoring her.
She didn’t spare the details. Not the way Elowyn’s voice had shaken when she’d spoken too quickly, or how she’d paced once the overstimulation set in. Not the moment her breathing had gone uneven, panic flashing sharp and sudden across her face.
“…it was quite late,” Seraphina said eventually, her voice quieter now, “and I knew she hadn’t eaten. So I offered to buy her dinner.”
The admission lingered in the air.
She glanced toward Nadia first.
Nadia was sitting with a soft, knowing smile tugging at her mouth, her gaze fixed not on Seraphina, but on the pink pen still resting between Seraphina’s fingers.
Then Seraphina looked at Scarlett.
Her smirk was no longer present, it was replaced with a gentle smile.
The room softened with the change.
Nadia spoke gently, her voice warm. “I guess all my late-night talks about my job came in handy.”
Seraphina nodded once.
“They did.”
Nadia hesitated, then glanced at the pen again.
“You know,” she said softly, “when certain people on the spectrum give you something they care about… it’s usually not casual.”
Seraphina’s fingers stilled.
“It’s not a thank-you gift. Or a polite gesture,” Nadia continued. “It usually means they’ve decided you’re safe.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “Sometimes it’s the only way they know how to say it.”
Scarlett’s face softened even more, watching Seraphina’s reaction.
Nadia’s gaze stayed on her friend. “Especially if it’s something they like. Something familiar. Comforting.”
“They don’t give things away easily,” Nadia added. “Routine matters. Objects matter. When they offer one up…” She shrugged slightly. “It’s trust. Sometimes affection. Sometimes both.”
Silence settled again, quiet and deliberate.
Seraphina looked down to the pen resting between her fingers. Its surface showed the gentle polish of frequent use, edges softened where it had been held too many times to count. Nothing about it suggested neglect, only routine. The kind of object you stop noticing because it’s always with you.
She already knew all of it—she’d read about it before.
But hearing it spoken aloud made the pen in her hand feel unexpectedly heavy.
Seraphina said nothing, thumb brushing over the pen, aware of the weight of it in a way she hadn’t been before.
Scarlett leaned forward slightly. “How old is she.”
Seraphina met her gaze without flinching. “Twenty.”
Scarlett exhaled through her nose. “Okay.”
“Not a child,” Nadia said calmly.
“No,” Scarlett agreed. “But young enough that I wanted to ask.”
Seraphina inclined her head. “I just finished telling you it wasn't a date.”
"Yes, I'm aware of that now. But it still wouldn't look appropriate if you were going around having late night dinners with a minor." Scarlett said.
Seraphina didn’t respond, her eyes drifting to the window for a moment.
Nadia tilted her head slightly. “Do you see her often?”
Seraphina glanced at the pen in her hand. Turned it once between her fingers.
“No,” she replied. “Only when she’s with her father. Or at the Miss Loretta’s.”
Scarlett’s lips lifted in a faint, warm smile—gentle, rather than teasing. “And you’re intrigued.”
Seraphina lifted her eyes. “I’m paying attention.”
It wasn’t interest in the way Scarlett meant it. Seraphina simply didn’t miss things. Elowyn had done something that caught her attention—not striking, not calculated—just quietly present in a way that lingered.
Seraphina set the pen down, careful not to disturb its place on the coffee table.
Her eyes drifted back to the room, taking in Nadia’s relaxed posture, Scarlett’s easy smile. And then, briefly, her mind traced the girl again—not the chaos, not the apologies, but the subtle precision, the attentiveness that surfaced even under pressure.
It was enough to make her notice.
She leaned back slightly, letting the conversation continue around her, her gaze steady, alert.
?
Elowyn kicked off her shoes at the doorway, letting the familiar weight of the house settle over her like a blanket. Her brother flopped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, tired from their long day out but already relaxed in the rhythm of home.
For Elowyn, the outside world had been loud, bright, full of movement and obligation.
But here—here she could sink into the familiar hum of the house, the soft creak of the floorboards under her feet, the small quiet spaces where she didn’t have to perform or explain.
She padded to the kitchen to grab a snack, the warm light and still air welcoming her like an old friend.
The day had been fun. They’d spent hours wandering the old city district—cobblestone streets, tiny bookshops tucked into corners, and a riverside park that felt quieter than the rest of town.
Later, they’d gone to a small trampoline park that one of Daniel’s friends owned. The place was empty, so Elowyn had bounced, ran, and even tried a few flips under his amused supervision. She’d laughed more than she had in weeks, but her legs now ached, and her energy had faded along with the sun.
She enjoyed her day.
But coming home felt better.
Here, she didn’t have to keep pace. Didn’t have to watch her expressions or rehearse her words before speaking, she could let herself simply be.
She could fold into the small routines she liked, the little corners she’d claimed as her own, where nothing demanded perfection, and nothing required her to be anything other than herself.
“Dan?” she called.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want a snack?”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, she returned to the living room with three plates. One held sliced fruit. Another had neatly cubed cheese. The last was stacked with crackers, arranged without her quite realizing she’d done it.
“Thanks, Ellie,” Daniel said, reaching for the remote.
The pair settled in easily, their favorite cartoon filling the room with familiar voices and bright colors. They ate in quiet, shoulders relaxed, legs stretched out, the kind of silence that didn’t feel like waiting.
“You know,” Elowyn said suddenly, eyes still on the screen, “when you brush your teeth, it’s really the only time you clean your skeleton.”
Daniel barked a laugh. “What? Where did that come from?”
To this day, all his sisters' random little comments always caught him off guard.
"Yeah," she murmured, shoving a piece of fruit in her mouth, "It’s kind of crazy."
"I feel really healthy today," she added.
Daniel sat there, watching his sister with both confusion and amusement.
"You feel healthy?" He echoed.
Elowyn nodded. "We were walking around most of the day, then went to the trampoline place. And instead of grabbing a bag of chips in the kitchen, I chose the fruit," she proudly stated. "So, I basically exercised today, and I'm eating healthy.
He smiled, already guessing that Elowyn would count this one day of walking and bouncing as her full quota of exercise for the next year. “So that’s the criteria now?”
“Yes.”
Daniel shook his head fondly. “And that somehow connects to skeleton hygiene?”
Elowyn considered this seriously.
“…Maybe.”
She leaned deeper into the couch, tucking her feet beneath her, the cartoon light flickering across the walls.
Her muscles ached pleasantly. Her thoughts felt slower. Softer.
Outside had taken effort.
Home didn’t ask for anything at all.
Daniel leaned back on the couch, watching her settle under a blanket.
He liked taking Elowyn to new places when he could—especially somewhere like the trampoline park, where his friend had let them in after hours.
No crowds, no chaos, just space for her to run, jump, and laugh without worrying about anyone else.
She’d never really gotten to experience things like this as a kid.
Big crowds had made everything overwhelming.
Trips to parks, fairs, or even simple play spaces had been stressful, sometimes impossible.
But now, with the connections he had and a with a little planning, he could give her moments like this.
And he enjoyed it too—the running, the jumping, the absurdity of her little antics.
Like when she’d charged at him mid-flip, shouting some dramatic warning about imminent doom. She tried to shove him toward the foam pit, then lunged again, tackling him onto a mat, bouncing off him like he was part of her trampoline world.
Her laughter rang through the empty room, wild and unselfconscious, and Daniel couldn’t help but stumble and dodge, both laughing and trying to keep up with her unpredictable little bursts of energy.
At one point, the little gremlin tried to crawl up his back while he was mid-jump, giggling at his protests as he tried not to fall over, only to end up rolling into a heap of foam with her on top, both of them laughing so hard it echoed off the walls.
It was exhausting. Fun. Chaotic. And exactly the kind of day he wanted for her.