39. Elena
Elena
Finn wails, his tiny fists flailing in every direction. I immediately know what’s happening. I brace him against my shoulder, awkwardly, and sneak a peek into the diaper.
“Oh, God,” I mutter, trying to suppress the laughter that bubbles up. “He’s exploded.”
Cormac leans over my shoulder, eyes widening, and for the first time in a long while, I see the stone-cold veneer crack. A smile threatens at the corners of his mouth, but he quickly fights it off.
“That is... unprecedented,” he says, voice clipped but unmistakably laced with amusement. He reaches for the wipes with the kind of efficiency he’d bring to a high-stakes medical operation, but his hands tremble slightly. “I did not anticipate this level of... output.”
I laugh again. Cormac’s expression flickers between frustration and amusement as he tries to maintain his composure. The rhythm between us is perfect, though: I hold Finn steady, he wipes. Finn squirms, kicking his tiny legs, but somehow, amidst the chaos, we find an unspoken bond.
“Do we need a change of clothes?” I ask, biting back a grin.
Cormac pauses, his gaze flicking from Finn to me, then back to Finn. A rare vulnerability passes through his eyes before he straightens up, socks in hand, determination etched on his face.
“Yes. And I will take responsibility for his sock placement. Clearly, he cannot do it himself.”
He bends down, focused and meticulous as he adjusts Finn’s tiny socks. For just a moment, I see Cormac as a child: careful, deliberate, yet fumbling with new responsibilities in a way that’s more endearing than awkward.
I can’t stop myself from laughing again. He straightens, hands on his hips, surveying the cleaned-up scene like a commander inspecting a completed mission.
“There,” he says. “Socks aligned. Mission successful.”
Finn gurgles, his little hand waving in the air, and I swear he’s smiling. I glance at Cormac, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, yes,” he says, his voice precise but with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But effective.”
I look at him and realize that, in the chaos of diaper explosions and the endless cycle of late-night feedings, he’s unraveled just a little bit. The unshakable control that has defined him, us, has softened, and in its place is something much more real. Warm. Human.
“Marry me.”
I freeze, my hands still on the fresh diaper, the words sinking in like a quiet storm. This is not a flippant proposal. Not a sudden whim. It’s a culmination, an inevitability. A small, perfect moment buried in the absurdity of a diaper change.
I glance at him, and I see it. Not just the authority and control that’s always been there, but something deeper now. Something tender. He’s offering me a real future with him.
“Name. Tax status. Legal simplicity,” he adds, almost teasing but with that same quiet certainty, his voice soft.
I laugh, breathless from both exhaustion and the absurdity of it all. “That’s it?”
“No,” he says, and his gaze sharpens, focused, deliberate. “I want you to be mine in every way. Contract, law, marriage. All of it.”
The weight of his words presses against me, and suddenly, it’s not just about the logistics of a marriage; it’s about everything we’ve built. It’s about us. The life we’ve created in chaos, the tenderness we both hide behind walls. It’s permanent. It’s real.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of the moment settle in, the gravity of it all. And yet, underneath it, I feel something softer. Something more intimate than any legal document could convey.
“I already am,” I say, almost a whisper, because it’s the truth.
His eyes soften, the usual coolness melting for a second, a flicker of something deeper passing through them. He leans just a little closer, and I feel the pull between us. “I know. But let’s formalize it, anyway.”
Finn stirs against my chest, murmuring softly as if agreeing with his father, and I instinctively pull him closer.
Cormac’s hand slides over mine, over Finn’s tiny body, grounding us both in this moment.
I see the faint flicker of relief in his eyes.
It’s satisfaction, yes. But something else, too. Vulnerability.
“Yes, I’ll marry you,” I say, my voice steady now. I choose him. I choose this life. Despite everything.
He doesn’t smile. Instead, he pulls me in just a little closer, his hand lingering on mine, on Finn. There’s a quiet satisfaction in his eyes, but more than that, there’s peace.
We’ve built this. We’ve built a family. A life. All the control, the management, the cage, it’s led us here. To this moment. To each other.
And this time, we’re choosing it.