Spring arrived gently.
No explosion of color, no grand announcement — just sunlight lingering longer on the floorboards, warmer breezes sneaking through cracked windows, and the faint scent of blooming jasmine wafting in as the world stirred from its slumber.
Inside their new home — the one they'd chosen together, for their family — the morning was already golden.
Eliza stood at the vanity in their bedroom, slipping in a pair of earrings with steady hands, but a storm of feeling churned beneath her calm. Her reflection showed the same woman the world had always seen: composed, polished, decisive. But this morning, beneath the silk blouse and tailored blazer, was something deeper — raw, luminous, changed.
Lyra had laughed for the first time that morning. Really laughed. Not the sleepy gasps she'd made before — but a full, startled, sparkling sound that stopped both her parents in their tracks.
Eliza had just stepped out of the shower when she heard it — a sudden, musical chime from the nursery. She'd rushed in still in a robe, hair dripping, to find Will on the rocking chair with their daughter on his lap, both wearing the same wide-eyed expression of wonder.
"She did it again," Will had whispered, like if he said it too loudly, it might disappear. "She laughed."
And then she had — twice more, just to prove she could.
Now, Eliza knelt beside the bassinet one last time before leaving, brushing a thumb over her daughter's downy cheek. "Be good for Daddy, my little moon."
Will entered the room a second later, dressed in soft grey joggers and a black crew neck. There were traces of exhaustion under his eyes, but they were outweighed by something gentler — a glow of quiet pride.
"I made coffee. And lunch, if you don't want to order."
She looked up at him, then back at Lyra. "You sure you're okay with this?"
Will crouched beside her, slipping his hand into hers. "You've built something incredible, Eliza. I want you to lead it. I'll handle home base for now."
She exhaled slowly, grateful and aching all at once. "This isn't what I imagined. Not exactly."
He kissed her temple. "Neither did I. But I think we're better than what we imagined."
Downstairs, the house smelled like cinnamon and citrus. Her favorite playlist was humming softly through the kitchen speakers. Her keys and bag were already waiting by the door — he'd remembered everything.
Will followed her down, carrying Lyra in her little wrap against his chest, already swaying side to side like an instinct.
She looked at the two of them and nearly stayed.
"I should go," she said finally, brushing her fingers along Lyra's soft head.
Will kissed her goodbye — slow, familiar, unhurried — then nudged her keys into her hand. "Call me when you get there. And drive safe, CEO."
Eliza slid behind the wheel of her hybrid, the one Will had gifted her after she launched the foundation two years ago, and pulled out onto the tree-lined street with the windows cracked open. Sunlight filtered through the trees like something sacred.
Back at the office — her office — the staff had left a welcome-back card, fresh-cut tulips, and a bottle of her favorite green tea waiting on her desk. The foundation had flourished in her absence, and that filled her with pride.
But as the hours passed, her thoughts wandered.
During board meetings, she imagined Lyra's soft breaths. In between reviewing grant proposals, she wondered if Will had managed the feeding schedule. When her phone finally buzzed with a message, she opened it so fast she nearly dropped it.
Will:
She misses you.Or maybe I do.Either way, she laughed again. I filmed it this time. Video incoming.
Eliza bit back a smile.
She stepped into her private office, played the clip, and laughed aloud — that helpless, chest-warming laugh that no one ever taught you, the kind that simply arrived once you became a mother.
Lyra's giggle filled the room through her phone's speaker. And in the background, she heard Will's voice whisper something, soft and amazed: "I can't believe I get to love both of you."
Tears sprang to her eyes — not because she was sad, or overwhelmed — but because something about this balance was sacred. Fragile. Precious.
At the end of the day, Eliza didn't linger. She packed up early, waved goodbye to her team, and slipped into the driver's seat with her heart pounding in anticipation.
Home wasn't just a place now.
It was Will, holding their daughter as if she was the sun.
It was Lyra, bright-eyed and squealing as soon as Eliza stepped through the door.
It was this moment, right here — where the light shifted softer, and she knew with absolute certainty:
She was exactly where she belonged.