Lily decided how they would celebrate.
Not with balloons or banners or anything that felt like a performance—but with something that made sense to her. Something that felt like theirs.
She announced it at breakfast the morning after the courthouse visit, spoon raised mid-air like a declaration.
"We're having a family day."
Bella smiled. "What does that mean?"
Lily frowned slightly. "It means we do things we already like. But on purpose."
Ethan laughed softly. "That might be the best definition I've heard."
Lily nodded, satisfied. "And we don't invite people."
Bella pretended to think hard. "That sounds perfect."
Family day began slowly.
No alarms. No rushing. Bella made pancakes while Ethan sliced fruit, Lily supervising from a stool with serious concentration.
"These are celebration pancakes," Lily reminded them. "They have to be extra good."
Ethan smiled. "Then I'll try not to burn them."
Bella laughed. "That would help."
They ate together at the table, sunlight spilling across the wood, the house warm and unhurried. Lily told them stories that wandered in and out of logic, her feet swinging beneath the chair.
At one point, she stopped and looked between them.
"You know what?" Lily said.
"What?" Ethan asked.
"I don't feel different," Lily continued. "I just feel… sure."
Bella's chest tightened. "That's a good feeling."
Lily nodded. "Yes. I like it."
After breakfast, Lily declared it was time for the second part of family day.
"We visit the places," she said.
Bella blinked. "Which places?"
"All of them," Lily replied. "The important ones."
Ethan exchanged a glance with Bella. "Lead the way."
They started at the pond.
The ice was long gone now, the water dark and reflective, the air filled with birdsong. Lily skipped stones while Bella and Ethan stood side by side, watching the ripples spread.
"This is where you taught me to skate," Lily said to Ethan.
"And fall," Ethan added.
"And get back up," Lily finished proudly.
Bella smiled. "That's an important place."
Next was the trail behind the cabin, where Lily insisted on stopping at the exact spot where she'd first seen frogs that spring.
"They came back," Lily said. "Just like Bell."
Bella laughed softly. "I did come back."
"Yes," Lily said seriously. "You always do."
The last stop surprised Bella.
Lily led them back to the cabin and straight into the living room.
"Here," Lily said, pointing to the couch. "This is where we sit together at night."
Bella's throat tightened.
Ethan nodded. "You're right. This is important too."
Lily climbed onto the couch and patted the space between her and the armrest. "Sit."
They did—Bella on one side, Ethan on the other, Lily tucked between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This is my favorite place," Lily said softly.
Bella rested her hand over Lily's, heart full. "Mine too."
Later that afternoon, Bella found herself alone for a moment, folding laundry in the bedroom. She caught sight of herself in the mirror—relaxed, grounded, unmistakably at home.
She paused.
There it was.
Not a role she was trying on.
Not a version of herself she was testing.
This was who she was now.
Bella—the woman who stayed.
The woman who planned.
The woman who showed up in the small moments without waiting for applause.
She smiled at her reflection.
"I'm here," she whispered.
And she meant it.
Ethan had his own quiet reckoning.
He stood in the yard near the sapling, hands in his pockets, watching Lily kneel in the dirt, talking to the flowers they'd planted the day before as if they were listening.
Bella joined him.
"She talks to plants now," Bella said softly.
Ethan smiled. "She's always talked to things she trusts."
Bella glanced at him. "Including you."
Ethan nodded. "I used to think my job was to hold everything together."
"And now?" Bella asked.
"Now I think my job is to let things grow," he said. "Even when I can't control how."
Bella smiled. "That's a big shift."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "I didn't become this man overnight."
Bella met his gaze. "But you became him deliberately."
He nodded. "Yes."
They stood there, not needing to say more.
That evening, Lily asked for one more thing.
"Can we do a family promise?" she asked, legs tucked beneath her on the rug.
Bella raised an eyebrow. "What kind of promise?"
"Not the forever kind," Lily said quickly. "Just the true kind."
Ethan smiled. "I like that distinction."
Lily thought for a moment, then said, "We promise to tell each other when something feels wrong."
Bella nodded. "That's a good one."
"And we promise to come back after fights," Lily added.
Ethan met Bella's eyes. "Yes."
"And," Lily finished, "we promise to keep choosing."
Bella felt tears gather. "I promise."
"So do I," Ethan said.
Lily smiled, satisfied. "Okay. That's enough."
That night, Bella lay awake for a while, listening to the quiet rhythm of the house.
She thought about how she'd once measured her life by movement—by what she could leave behind, by how quickly she could adapt.
Now, she measured it by presence.
By what she returned to.
By who waited without doubt.
She turned slightly, resting her hand on Ethan's arm.
"Do you ever miss who you were before?" she asked softly.
Ethan considered. "Sometimes."
"And?" Bella asked.
"And I don't want to go back," he replied. "That man was surviving. This one is building."
Bella smiled. "I feel the same."
The next morning, Lily left a note on the fridge before school.
It was written in careful, uneven letters:
Family day can be every day if we remember.
Bella read it twice.
Then once more.
When Ethan saw it, he laughed softly. "She might be onto something."
Bella nodded. "She usually is."
The chapter closed not with a grand moment—but with repetition.
Lunch packed.
Shoes tied.
Kisses goodbye.
Bella watched Lily walk down the path toward school, then turned back to the cabin, where Ethan waited.
No uncertainty.
No wondering if this would last.
Love didn't need to shout anymore.
It lived here—in routine, in intention, in the way they celebrated not by adding something new, but by recognizing what already was.
They didn't mark the day with noise.
They marked it with presence.
And that, Bella knew, was the truest celebration of all.