He kissed her softly. Then whatever comes, we’re ready. Uh.
They helped with dinner later. Grilled fish, vegetables from the garden, fresh bread still warm. The table was full.
Staff, children, families, volunteers. The conversation gathered around new plans, summer specials, student workshops, holiday outreach programs. Lorraine lifted her glass.
To staying. To building roots and setting wings. They clinked glasses.
When the party quieted at twilight, the twins tugged Edward and Maya upstairs to show them their new fort blankets thrown over chairs, fairy lights inside, books stacked on the floor. They sleep out here sometimes, Ethan explained. Maya sat down and watched them two boys who once were hollow with loss, now rich with laughter.
Edward whispered, Thank you. She leaned into him. Thank yourself.
Um. Outside the window, fireflies had begun to drift in patterns that looked accidental and beautiful. Inside, the fort glowed with warm lamplight.
Maya closed her eyes, breathing in the sound of peace. This was the end of one chapter, the beginning of everything else. Because healing isn’t final.
It’s persistent, imperfect, and bright. And the light? It remains. Always.