Lyra was just shy of a month old when Eliza looked across the living room, nursing tea she hadn't had time to reheat, and said, "Maybe we should invite people over."
Will glanced up from where he was burping their daughter, one hand cupped behind her impossibly small head, his T-shirt rumpled, his eyes soft. "You mean like... now?"
"Not now," she laughed, setting her mug aside. "I mean soon. Just... a few people. Nothing big. Just the ones who matter."
It had been a whirlwind month. They'd barely left the house. Between feedings, swaddling, doctor check-ups, and the occasional five-minute shower that felt like a luxury spa treatment, their world had shrunk down to the size of a baby blanket. And yet, within it was something vast.
Eliza had never been good at stillness. But in Lyra's quiet moments — when she was nuzzled between them, her lashes fluttering in dreams, or when her tiny fingers wrapped around Will's thumb — she found herself slowing down in a way that didn't feel like losing time, but reclaiming it.
So yes. She wanted people around. Not just to meet their daughter — but to witness this new life they'd built.
Will smiled as he rocked Lyra gently. "You're ready to show her off."
"I'm ready to share her," Eliza corrected, eyes warm. "With the people who love us."
They sent out simple invites — texts, really. No frills. Just a few lines that read:We've got a new little love. Come meet her. Saturday. Nothing fancy. Just bring yourselves.
When Saturday came, the house smelled like cinnamon and rosemary — things Will had been quietly baking all morning. Eliza, wearing jeans that finally fit again and an oversized sweater Will claimed he hated but secretly loved on her, lit candles she hadn't touched in months. Not to impress. Just to feel human again.
The guest list was short: Ivy and Mateo, grinning like proud aunts and uncles. Arjun from Eliza's old marketing team, who brought gifts wrapped in botanical-themed paper. Sadie from Will's construction crew, who cried when she held Lyra and whispered, "You guys made a whole person."
The baby slept through most of it — until Will passed her to Eliza during a lull in conversation. Cradled in her arms, Lyra blinked up sleepily at the light, her cheeks pink, her mouth forming little 'o's as if trying to form a word.
"She's got your eyes," Ivy said, sipping cider on the couch.
"And your expression," Mateo added, teasing Will. "She looks like she's about to audit someone."
Eliza laughed — really laughed, the kind that made her throw her head back. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this — the company of people who knew them before all this. Before the diapers, the 3 a.m. sob-fests, the quiet panics and even quieter joys.
Later, as the guests trickled out with hugs and promises to return, Will and Eliza stood at the door with Lyra nestled between them.
"We did okay," Will murmured, brushing a kiss to Eliza's temple. "With today. With her. With... all of it."
Eliza looked down at their daughter, who had one hand fisted against Will's shirt, and the other loosely curled near her mouth.
"We really did."
There were still questions they hadn't answered. Sleepless nights ahead. Parts of themselves they were still adjusting to. But tonight, in the glow of candlelight and laughter still echoing in the walls, it felt like they were exactly where they were meant to be.
A house full of warmth. Small hands. And a life full of love, quietly unfolding.