The apartment was unusually quiet.
Soft golden light spilled through the windows, illuminating the play mat like a halo, where Elias lay on his belly clutching his worn plush bunny. The kids had finally gone down for their naps, leaving behind a trail of scattered rattles and abandoned onesies like tiny echoes of the storm they usually were.
Aria moved gently through the apartment, relishing the rare stillness. She had half a mind to make tea or maybe just sit for five minutes and do nothing—something that had become a luxury since the babies came. But before she could claim the moment, the doorbell rang.
She blinked in surprise. They weren't expecting anyone.
Padding barefoot to the door, she opened it to find a courier holding a slim, flat package.
"Delivery for Mrs. Castellan."
The name still made her heart flutter.
She signed for it, murmuring a quiet thank you, and closed the door behind her. There was no return address, but Leon's name was printed across the label in his usual meticulous hand.
Curiosity sparked, she set the package on the dining table and slowly peeled back the wrapping. Beneath the layers was a framed photograph—and her breath caught.
It was from the photoshoot earlier that week.
The one Leon had barely allowed, insisting it would be chaotic with three babies and no sleep. But she had wanted something tangible, something they could hold on to years from now when the children were grown and the sleepless nights were just a memory.
And now, here it was.
The photo he'd chosen wasn't the most posed or polished. Elias had his hand in his mouth, Lila was tugging on Leon's sleeve, and Amara looked like she was about to scream—but Aria was laughing, her hair slightly messy, one hand resting lightly on Leon's shoulder.
It was perfect.
Real.
Love lived in.
As she stared at it, a folded note fluttered from behind the frame. She picked it up with trembling fingers.
"For the woman who became my everything—long before she became their mother. This photo captured our world, but you're still the center of mine."
A breath caught in her throat. Her heart, already full, threatened to overflow.
She sank into the couch, cradling the frame like it was something fragile, something sacred. Around her, the quiet hum of the apartment made it feel even more intimate—Elias' soft breathing, the gentle rattle of wind against the windows.
She thought of the woman she used to be: scared, displaced, tricked into thinking she had no value except what could be bought. And now, here she was. Loved deeply. Seen entirely.
By the man who once treated her like an acquisition—but who now held her as if she were the rarest, most irreplaceable thing in the world.
When Leon returned home an hour later, she met him at the door with the frame still in hand and her emotions shimmering in her eyes.
He raised a brow. "So… it arrived."
"You're impossible," she whispered, smiling through the welling tears.
"And yet, here you are," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, lingering there as if pressing the moment into memory. "I just wanted you to have something that reminded you how much you mean to me. Even on the days you feel like you're drowning in bottles and diapers."
"I needed it more than I realized," she said softly.
He nodded. "That's why I did it."
Later that evening, after the babies had been bathed and swaddled, after Leon had convinced Lila to stop eating her own foot and coaxed Elias into his crib, he quietly hung the frame near the front door.
"It belongs right here," he said when Aria gave him a questioning look.
"Why?"
"So every time we leave this place, we remember who we're coming home to."
She didn't say anything, just leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers curling around his.
No more words were needed.