Chapter 2
chapter two
Morgan
I get through the last hour on autopilot.
I help zip a tiny jacket, my fingers clumsy.
I admire a finger painting of a blue dog, my mind miles away.
Each tick of the clock is a drumbeat counting down to my real life waiting just outside the door.
"They're staying," I say to myself, tying Sophia's shoe. "They're really staying."
By three forty-five, the parents begin arriving for pickup. I hand out daily reports, exchange pleasantries, and accept compliments about the children's artwork, all the while my heart beats triple time in my chest.
"Ms. Morgan!" Mrs. Fran waves as she approaches with her husband. "Kiran hasn't stopped talking about your ocean lesson all week."
I crouch down to Kiran's level. "Did you show your parents the sea creature you made?"
He nods enthusiastically, pulling a somewhat abstract clay creation from his cubby. "It's an octopus with nine legs!"
"Very creative," I tell him, ruffling his hair before standing to address his parents. "He's been very focused this week. Really enjoys the science activities."
I chat with several more families, my professional smile firmly in place despite the growing anticipation building inside me. Just fifteen more minutes. Then I can—
"Morgan."
The voice makes my shoulders tense. I turn to find Evan Harris standing in the doorway, his four-year-old daughter Charlie clinging to his hand. Despite his welcoming smile, his eyes stay fixed on me a half second too long, the way someone watches a door they're not sure they locked.
"Mr. Harris," I reply, keeping my tone pleasant. "Charlie had a great day today."
"I'm sure she did," he says, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long before dropping to his daughter. "Tell me what you learned today."
Charlie beams up at me then back to her dad. "We learned about sharing. I shared my blocks with Tommy."
"That's wonderful," I tell her, handing over her backpack. "You're becoming quite the expert at sharing."
Evan steps closer, lowering his voice. "I was thinking, since it's Friday, maybe we could grab dinner? I know this great Italian place that Charlie loves."
The offer is innocent enough on the surface, a single dad reaching out to his daughter's teacher. But I've seen the way he looks at me when he thinks no one is watching. The too frequent "accidental" touches. The gifts that cross professional boundaries.
"I appreciate the offer," I say, keeping my distance, "but I have plans tonight."
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Hot date?"
"Something like that," I reply, watching the muscle tic in his cheek.
"Well, maybe next time," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. The contact makes me flinch. "Charlie would love to spend more time with her favorite teacher."
I step back, his hand falling away. "Have a good weekend, Evan. Bye, Charlie!"
They leave, but not before Evan casts one more lingering look over his shoulder. I exhale slowly, wiping my hands on my dress as if I could wipe away the discomfort his presence leaves.
"Everything okay?" Ms. Davis asks, appearing beside me.
"Fine," I assure her, forcing a smile. "Just excited to start the weekend."
She gives me a knowing look. "Those two handsome men who surprised you earlier still waiting?"
I can't help the blush that heats my cheeks. "They are."
"Well, you've been the most dedicated teacher I've ever had," she says, patting my arm.
I make quick work of closing up the classroom, my mind already out the door and in the truck with Trenton and Matthew.
My heart hammers against my ribs. After six years of waiting, of building a future from a distance, it feels impossible that it's all about to begin.
That our house, the one I've never spent a single night in, is about to become a home.
I couldn't bring myself to move in without them.
The house was always meant for all three of us.
At exactly four o'clock, I push through the day care doors and spot them immediately, leaning against Trenton's truck, deep in conversation. They look up simultaneously as I approach, twin smiles spreading across their faces.
"There she is," Matthew says, straightening. "The woman who's been occupying my every thought for six months."
"Ready to go home?" Trenton asks, his voice soft in a way that's reserved just for me.
"More than ready," I reply, allowing myself to be pulled into their embrace. "I still can't believe you're here. For good."
"We have a lot to catch up on," Matthew says, opening the passenger door for me.
As Trenton drives us toward the outskirts of town, I watch the familiar landscape pass by, my mind whirling with questions. "I can't believe this is real. Was it a sudden decision, leaving the SEALs?"
"After that last mission," Trenton admits, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror. "When we almost didn't make it back. We'd already put in our papers, but that was the moment we knew we'd made the right decision."
The house comes into view, a two-story modern farmhouse with a wide front porch. We spent countless video calls debating floor plans and paint colors. Every inch was chosen together.
"It's beautiful," I whisper as Trenton parks in front.
"We've been having the cleaning service maintain it," Matthew explains, "just like we discussed. But no one's been living here."
I look at him in surprise. "I thought you had a property manager staying in the guesthouse?"
Trenton shakes his head. "We couldn't do that to you. To us. This place was always meant for all three of us, together."
My eyes fill with tears as I take in the home we built literally and figuratively. The realization that tonight will be our first night here, as a real family, finally sinks in.
"I can't believe this is real," I say as we climb the steps to the front porch. "After all these years of waiting…"
Matthew unlocks the door, pushing it open with a flourish. "Welcome home, Morgan."
The entryway smells like lemon polish and new beginnings. I run my hand over the mantel in the living room, remembering the pixelated video call where we'd argued for an hour before choosing it. The furniture sits perfectly arranged, like a showroom, waiting for us to mess it up with our lives.
"The kitchen," I breathe, stepping onto the cool tile. The farmhouse sink we both wanted is even bigger in person. It's all real.
Matthew opens the refrigerator. "We stocked up. Figured you might be hungry after work."
Tears stream down my face as I take it all in. Six years of building this life together, despite the distance. Six years of video calls and text messages and the constant ache of separation. And now they're here. We're here.
"I kept thinking," I admit, "that I was foolish for waiting. Everyone told me I should just move in, that you wouldn't mind. But I couldn't. This was always meant to be our home."
Trenton pulls me into his arms, his voice gruff with emotion. "No one else could have built this with us, Morgan. No one else could have waited."
"Let me show you the rest," Matthew says, taking my hand.
We explore the house room by room: the office we designed for my lesson planning, the guest bathroom with its rainfall showerhead, the master bedroom with its king-sized bed and adjoining bath. Every detail exactly as we'd planned during those late-night calls from overseas.
"The view is even better than I imagined," I whisper, staring out the bedroom window at the mountains beyond our property.
"Just wait until sunset," Trenton says, coming to stand behind me, his arms encircling my waist. "We've been missing this for too long."
I turn in his arms, looking up at both of them. "I can't believe you're really here."
"Believe it," Matthew murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "We're not going anywhere."
As the sun begins to set, casting golden light across our home, I finally let myself fully accept that this is real. No more deployments. No more goodbyes. No more counting down days until we're together.
Just us. Finally home.