Chapter 10 - The First Year
April 17, 2028.
The maple tree in the front yard was covered in bright, emerald-green buds. Balloons—yellow, pink, and baby blue—were tied to the porch railings, bobbing gently in the warm spring breeze.
The backyard was full of laughter.
Mallory was manning the lemonade stand she had built for the kids, while half a dozen friends from the library district chased Leo across the newly mown grass.
Leo was walking—stumbling, really—like a tiny drunken sailor, wearing denim overalls with patches on the knees. Cora was sitting on a picnic blanket, methodically dismantling a frosted cupcake with both fists, her face smeared with blue sugar.
Mae, still the smallest, sat securely in my lap, clapping her hands every time the wind caught the streamers.
The side gate creaked open.
Trent walked in carrying three small wooden tricycles tied together with a giant silver ribbon.
He wore a clean polo shirt and dark jeans. His posture was upright, his smile cautious but genuine. Over the last six months, his visitation had expanded to unmonitored day trips, then overnight weekends. He had bought a small townhouse four miles away, turning the entire upstairs into a second nursery that mirrored ours perfectly.
"Look who's here," I whispered to Mae.
Mae squealed, kicking her soft shoes against my thighs. "Da!"
Trent’s face lit up with an unadulterated joy that erased ten years of weariness from his brow. He set the tricycles by the fence and knelt down on the grass, opening his arms.
"Hey, bug," he said softly.
Mae launched herself forward from my lap, toddling across the short distance of grass and collapsing straight into his chest. Trent caught her effortlessly, swinging her into the air until she shrieked with giggles, before pressing a tender kiss to the top of her curls.
Leo spotted him next, abandoning his pursuit of a dandelion to charge Trent’s legs, wrapping his chubby arms around his father’s calf like a koala.
"Whoa, buddy!" Trent laughed, scooping Leo up in his other arm. He stood there in the sunlight, holding two of his children, his eyes scanning the yard until they found Cora, who waved a frosting-covered fist in greeting.
Trent carried the babies over to the picnic blanket and set them down safely among the toys.
He walked over to where I was standing near the patio table.
"Happy birthday to the master coordinator," he said, handing me a small, beautifully wrapped package.
"Trent, we agreed no gifts between us."
"It's not a gift from me," he said. "Open it."
I untied the twine and folded back the brown paper.
Inside was a leather-bound book embossed with gold foil: *The First Year of Leo, Cora, and Mae Ward.*
I opened the cover.
It wasn't filled with staged studio portraits. It was filled with real, captured moments. Photos of the babies in their incubators with their tiny hands reaching out; candid pictures Mallory had taken of me sleeping upright in the nursery rocker with three bottles tucked in my shirt; pictures Trent had taken during his weekend mornings of the babies covered in mashed sweet potatoes.
And on the final page was a legal certificate from the state family court:
*Petition for Joint Legal Custody: Approved and Ratified by Mutual Consent.*
Beneath the judge's stamp was Trent’s handwritten addendum, signed by both of us last month:
*We do not share a marriage. But we share our whole hearts in these three lives. Together, forever, as their parents.*
I looked up at him.
There was no longer any tension between us. No unsaid accusations, no buried resentment, no poison whispered by people who envied what they couldn't build.
We were not the couple who got married six years ago in an emotional blur.
We were survivors of a storm that had destroyed our illusions and left behind only what was real, solid, and true. We were friends. We were co-parents. We were a team.
"It's perfect," I said, my voice thick with emotion.
"You made them perfect," Trent answered softly. "I just get to be grateful I'm here to see it."
Mallory walked over, carrying a wooden tray with three small smash cakes, each topped with a single golden candle.
"Cake time!" Mallory bellowed to the yard. "Round up the demolition crew!"
Trent and I moved in unison. Without needing a single word, he scooped up Leo and Cora, while I scooped up Mae. We carried them to the low picnic table, settling them into their three high chairs side by side.
The three children banged their palms against the trays, their faces bright with excitement, their eyes wide as the little flames flickered in the April sunshine.
"On three," Trent said, smiling across the table at me.
"One," I counted.
"Two," Mallory cheered.
"Three!" the whole yard shouted together.
May you like
Trent and I leaned in from opposite sides of the table, our shoulders lightly touching, and together, we blew out the candles.
The smoke drifted up into the clear blue sky, scattering on the warm spring wind, leaving nothing behind but light, laughter, and the solid ground beneath our feet.
