Listen to Residual by Chris Brown.

The lobby felt almost suffocating as we approached the receptionist's desk, the soft hum of the overhead lights only heightening the tension in the air. The receptionist, a young woman with glasses far too large for her delicate face, sat hunched over her desk, absently picking at the food she'd left abandoned in front of her. Her eyes widened when she noticed us, and in a flurry of awkward movement, she quickly chewed the bite in her mouth, her cheeks flushed a shade darker as she scrambled to clean herself up.

She reached for a paper napkin with trembling hands, wiping her mouth as if she could erase the moment completely. "Lo siento por eso. Buenos días, en qué puedo ayudarlos?" Her smile was wide but strained, the corners of her lips twitching as she tried to regain composure.

Tristan was calm, the kind of calm that made the air around him feel safer, steadier. I, on the other hand, felt as if the world was tightening around me, suffocating my breath. "Tenemos cita a las diez con la doctora Aracelly," I said, my voice perhaps too small, too fragile to match the weight of the moment.

The receptionist glanced at her screen, her fingers moving quickly over the keys with a sense of urgency, though her attention was only half there. "Okay," she muttered, barely meeting our eyes, before gesturing to the far side of the room. "Llegas treinta minutos antes, por favor toma asiento. Te avisaré cuando puedas verla."

"Gracias," I managed, forcing the words out like a brittle laugh. Tristan squeezed my hand gently, the warmth of his touch offering the faintest comfort as we made our way to the corner of the waiting area.

I collapsed into the chair, the tightness in my chest making it feel like I was suffocating. A shaky breath escaped my lips. "I feel like throwing up," I murmured, a bitter chuckle escaping, hollow and humorless. "I'm so nervous."

Tristan's hand found mine, his fingers long and strong as they threaded through my own. The simple gesture grounded me, like the steady pulse of a heartbeat in a world that felt like it was spinning too fast. I looked up at him, and his lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, a quiet promise that made everything feel a little less impossible.

"She will love you," he whispered, his voice low, yet full of warmth and certainty.

I nodded, even though part of me wasn't sure if I could believe him. My mind was a mess of nerves and doubt, but I clung to his words.

As we settled into the silence, a pair of footsteps approached, light and quick. A woman, short and plump, passed by us with a little girl in tow. The child was clutching a small, well-worn doll to her chest, her blonde hair shining like threads of sunlight. For a moment, I thought nothing of it, but something tugged deep within me, a visceral pull that I couldn't ignore.

I stiffened, my heart leaping into my throat. My eyes followed them, almost involuntarily, as they moved toward the receptionist. The girl—her hair tied neatly into pigtails adorned with small purple ribbons—had something so familiar about her, something I couldn't quite place, yet couldn't deny. The feeling of recognition washed over me like a wave crashing against the shore, sudden and overwhelming.

My stomach churned, the space around me shrinking as time seemed to slow. There was no mistaking it now. I had no proof, no logical reason to believe it, but my gut, that deep, primal instinct, told me with certainty: it was her.

Kayla.

It had been two years since I'd seen her, but I could feel it in every inch of my body.

I looked to Tristan, hoping for some sign that I wasn't losing my mind. But his attention was focused elsewhere, his eyes glued to his phone, unaware of the storm brewing inside me. My breath caught in my chest, and I could hardly tear my eyes away from the woman and the girl as they spoke to the receptionist, exchanging quiet words I couldn't hear but could almost feel.

I wanted to shout, to call out to her, but the words stuck in my throat. What would I even say? Would she even remember me?

"Tristan," I whispered urgently, my fingers tapping lightly against his arm to grab his attention.

He turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion, but his gaze softened as soon as he met mine. "Yeah?"

"That's her." My voice trembled with a mix of excitement and disbelief as I pointed across the room. The woman who had just picked up Kayla, her small frame so tender and protective, was now leading the little girl toward the hallway.

I could feel the electricity in my veins as I repeated, "That's Kayla. That's our little girl."

Tristan's face transformed in an instant, a wave of shock and wonder overtaking him. His eyes widened, as if he couldn't quite process the words, as though he needed some tangible proof beyond my frantic pointing.

"That's our little girl?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the enormity of the moment demanded he seek confirmation from the depths of my soul.

"Yes," I breathed out, nodding vigorously, my hands trembling in the rush of joy and fear swirling inside me. "Yes, that's her."

He shifted, ready to stand, to rush towards her, but I placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

Tristan met my gaze, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "Chloe, I—"

"We have to meet with Dr. Aracelly first," I said, my voice soft but firm. "Just... be a little patient. We can't rush this." I squeezed his hand, my pulse racing faster than I could control.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the hallway where Kayla had just disappeared, but then he sighed deeply. "I just... I need to be with her."

I understood. I felt it too—every inch of him vibrating with the same desperate longing. But we had to wait. I didn't have the words to make it easier for him.

"I wish I could control time right now," he muttered, throwing his head back, his voice a blend of helplessness and yearning.

"Few more minutes to go," I said, trying to lighten the mood, a small burst of laughter escaping my lips.

Tristan's gaze snapped to mine, his face pulling into a frown. "That doesn't make me feel any better, Cassie."

I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow, a playful, gentle poke to ease the tension. "Sulking wouldn't help either," I teased, the warmth of our shared moment grounding me in the storm of emotions swirling between us.

Tristan chuckled, the sound low and soft, and in that moment, I saw the vulnerability in his eyes—the rawness of his love for her. He draped his arm around me, pulling me closer, and my heart fluttered in my chest.

The receptionist's voice cut through the moment like a sudden jolt of electricity. "Dr. Aracelly is ready to see you now."

We both stood immediately, and without another word, we followed her down the hall, our footsteps synchronized in anxious anticipation. My stomach twisted with the weight of what was to come.

Dr. Aracelly's office was cozy but professional, with bookshelves lining the walls and soft lighting that didn't quite manage to ease the tension in my shoulders. She was standing by the corner, scanning the shelf in front of her, her expression thoughtful.

"Hola, welcome," she greeted us warmly, her eyes meeting ours with a professional yet welcoming demeanor. She set down a thick file and gestured toward the door. "Please follow me."

We trailed behind her in silence, the weight of our emotions hanging heavily in the air.

As we walked, Dr. Aracelly explained, her tone steady but kind. "Mrs. Gonzalez, your daughter's foster mother is the one that brought her today. Her husband couldn't join us—he's at work—but she'll be nearby, just in case you need anything. There's a park outside if you'd like to play with her, but remember, take it slow. Don't overwhelm her."

Her words settled in my chest like bricks. The reality of what we were about to do, the delicate nature of it all, felt like it was suffocating me. We're strangers to her.

We reached the door, and Dr. Aracelly paused, turning to face us with a gentle but firm smile. "Enjoy your time with your daughter," she said softly, "Mrs. Gonzalez will need to leave by three, so please make the most of the time you have."

And just like that, she stepped away, leaving us standing before the door. My breath caught in my throat, and for the first time since we had arrived, I felt the enormity of the moment hit me.

This was it. The moment we had waited for.

Tristan walked into the room first, his stride steady, but I felt every inch of the ground beneath me as I hesitated at the threshold. The door seemed like an insurmountable divide between the life I had once imagined and the reality of standing before her—before Kayla. My feet felt rooted to the floor, unwilling to move, unwilling to face what was on the other side. I took a slow breath, forcing myself to follow him, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I stepped into the room, the air felt thick, charged with the weight of what was about to happen. My eyes immediately sought out Tristan, and I found him walking toward Kayla, who was sitting on the colorful alphabet-and-numbers mat, a sea of plastic toys scattered around her. Her attention was entirely consumed by the doll she cradled in her hands. I watched him approach her, his movements careful and gentle. There was no rush, no urgency in his step, but his eyes were filled with an undeniable tenderness as he knelt down in front of her.

"Hey, Princess," Tristan said squatting in front of her. She looked up at his face.

"What a pretty doll you got here," Tristan continued, reaching out to touch the tiny figure in her hands. "What's her name?" His voice was soothing, coaxing, but Kayla only stared at him in silence before turning her attention back to the doll, retreating into her quiet world.

Tristan's smile faltered slightly, but he pressed on. "I love your shoes," he added, though her gaze never flickered in his direction.

Mrs. Gonzalez, standing beside me with a warm, patient smile, looked at Tristan, then translated softly, "No habla mucho, es muy callada. Ella solo ha dicho una palabra desde que la trajimos a la casa." Her voice was calm, explaining with the same tenderness that seemed to fill the room. "She doesn't speak much. She's very quiet. She's only said one word since we brought her home."

Tristan glanced up at me, his expression a mix of concern and confusion, asking for confirmation.

I nodded gently. "She's just explaining that Kayla doesn't talk much, and the doctor said it's normal for her age."

The words seemed to ease a small part of Tristan's worry, but his frown deepened as he looked back at Kayla, as though searching for a way to break through the silence between them.

Kayla finally looked up at Tristan, her eyes flicking toward him for just a moment before her gaze dropped again to her doll. Then, in one fluid motion, she raised it to him, her tiny hands offering the toy, an unspoken request. Tristan's brow furrowed in surprise, but he took the doll from her gently, offering her a soft smile in return.

"Thank you," Tristan said, his voice tender as he looked down at the little doll in his hands. "Does she have a name?"

Kayla didn't respond. She didn't need to. Instead, she reached for Tristan's hand, her small fingers curling around his palm with an almost desperate, quiet need.

I understood. "She wants you to carry her," I said, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them.

Tristan didn't hesitate. His eyes softened, and he crouched down, gathering her up in his arms with the kind of grace that only a parent could summon. Kayla immediately melted into him, pressing her small, fragile body against his chest. Her thumb found its way to her mouth, and she began sucking on it, the rhythmic motion a sign of comfort in the unfamiliar.

"I love you," Tristan whispered, he placed a kiss on her head and held her close to him.

"Es una réplica tuya," Mrs. Gonzalez said, her voice quiet with admiration. Tristan's eyes flicked toward her, and she smiled knowingly, her words slowly sinking into him. "She's a replica of you."

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he smiled down at Kayla, his fingers brushing the soft strands of her hair.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart aching, my body heavy with guilt. I was an outsider in this moment. I had left her here, this child, this stranger to me, and now I was a ghost in her life. How could Tristan navigate this so effortlessly? He was already holding her, already claiming her as his own, while I was left standing at the periphery, unsure of where I belonged.

She wouldn't recognize me. How could she? I hadn't been here when she needed me the most. I had let her slip away, and now she was here, in front of me, and I was just... nothing.

"Chloe," Tristan called, his voice gentle but firm. He was walking toward me now, carrying Kayla in his arms like she was his most precious treasure.

He brought Kayla closer to me, and she shifted in his arms, her thumb still resting between her lips. She didn't look at me, didn't meet my eyes. Instead, she burrowed further into Tristan's chest, seeking the comfort of his embrace.

"Hi, Kay."
I said to her with a soft smile but she looked away and snuggled closer to Tristan's chest.

"She hates me," I frowned.

"Don't say that we are like strangers to her. It's gonna take a while."
Tristan assured me with a smile.

Mrs. Gonzalez was a warm and kind-hearted woman, her presence a quiet comfort in the room. She had a soft, maternal energy that enveloped the space, as if her very being was made for this: for nurturing children who had nowhere else to turn. She had no children of her own, but in a way, every child she took in seemed to become a part of her family, each one leaving an imprint on her heart. She spoke to us about Kayla with a tenderness that made my chest tighten—her favorite foods, the things that made her laugh, her quirks and dislikes. It was a mosaic of little details, fragments of a life I was only just beginning to understand.

As Mrs. Gonzalez continued to share stories, I learned more about the delicate girl. Kayla's fluffy dog, for instance, had been her constant companion. Mrs. Gonzalez told us with a soft smile that Kayla had cried the entire ride to the Agency, the separation from her pet the hardest part of the transition.

After a while I took Kayla from Tristan's arms, she stared at me like a complete stranger and looked around the room. I remembered how tiny she was, she cried a lot and enjoyed being carried. If you tried to put her down even while she was sleeping, she would cry until she was sure she was still being carried before she stopped.

I couldn't help but smile as I brushed a lock of her soft baby hair behind her ear. She had grown so beautifully, too quickly, into this quiet little girl with crystal blue eyes that looked up at me now, wide and unblinking.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking slightly, the weight of those two words almost too much to bear. The tears I had been holding back for so long threatened to spill, but I fought them back, swallowing the pain that tightened in my throat.

As if my sorrow had somehow unsettled her, Kayla whimpered, a soft, frightened sound, and her little face scrunched in discomfort. Without thinking, she started to cry, her tiny body trembling in my arms. I tried to soothe her, rocking her gently, but she only wriggled more, as if trying to escape the strange, unfamiliar hold.

Before I could even react, Tristan was there. He reached out and took Kayla from my arms, his movements fluid and instinctual. She instantly settled against him, the sound of her sobs fading as he whispered calming words into her ear. I could see the way she clung to him, her small body curling into his chest like she had always been there, like he was her anchor in a sea of confusion.

She stopped crying, her body softening in his arms as she nestled against him. For a fleeting moment, she looked up at me. Her gaze met mine, but it was brief and distant, as if she had recognized me only in the way one might recognize an old photograph, something that belonged to a past she couldn't remember. Then she turned her face away and snuggled back into Tristan, seeking the warmth and safety he provided.

Tristan smiled at me, that familiar, reassuring smile, the one that always made me feel like everything was going to be okay. I returned it, but it felt thin, fragile.

Kayla drifted off to sleep in Tristan's arms, her thumb resting in her mouth, her face soft with the innocence of a child who didn't yet understand the complexities of the world around her. When we finally gave her back to Mrs. Gonzalez, I felt a pang of loss in my chest, an emptiness that only grew as we said our goodbyes. We thanked Mrs. Gonzalez profusely for taking such good care of Kayla, for providing the love and stability she had needed in our absence. She promised she would make time for us before the court hearing, and I clung to that promise like a lifeline.

The ride back to the hotel was heavy with silence. My mind was a whirlwind, still trying to process everything that had just happened. Kayla... our little girl. She was so beautiful, but she was also so distant. What if she grew up hating me? What if I couldn't bridge the gap that had formed between us? What if I wasn't enough for her?

"Do you know anywhere interesting we can go to?" Tristan's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, soft and tentative.

I blinked, pulling myself out of the fog. "Yeah," I said, my voice quieter than usual, "there's a nice beach down the street."

Tristan nodded and told the driver to stop by the beachside. The car pulled over, and we stepped out onto the sidewalk, where the warm sun and salty breeze greeted us. The area was bustling with tourists, the sounds of laughter and conversation floating in the air. People wandered past us in casual clothes, their steps light and carefree.

Tristan reached for my hand as we wove through the crowd, his fingers curling around mine with a comforting steadiness. I could feel the heat of his palm against mine, grounding me in the midst of my swirling thoughts. We stopped at a small shop where I picked out a sun hat and a pair of sunglasses, complaining about the sun's intensity. Tristan teased me about my "flimsy tolerance" for the heat, and we shared a small laugh as we made our way to the beach.

As we walked, I found myself talking about the beach, pointing out spots I remembered from years ago. I could see the spark of interest in Tristan's eyes, his attention rapt as he listened. His curiosity made me smile. He looked better than the first time I told him about Kayla. Somehow today's visit lightened his mood.

"Aren't you worried about the court hearing?" I asked, my voice small, hesitant. I had been carrying that weight in my chest all day—wondering how the hearing would go, if we had done enough, if the outcome would be as uncertain as everything else had been.

Tristan didn't hesitate, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I trust Andrew," he said, his voice a quiet confidence that seemed to seep into me, calming the nervous tightness in my chest. I hummed at his answer, trying to convince myself to believe it too, but I stayed quiet. There were too many unknowns, and that nagging fear clung to me, even as his certainty pushed against it.

"Cassie," Tristan called, his voice soft but firm as he stopped walking, causing me to turn back toward him. The quiet intensity in his eyes caught me off guard. He wasn't just looking at me—he was seeing me. "We saw Kayla today. That's hope. Mrs. Gonzalez promised us another visit." His hands reached for me, pulling me gently closer until his arms wrapped around my waist. "Leave Andrew to work on the hearing," he murmured, the warmth of his words pressing against mine. "If he needs anything, he'll let us know. But right now..." His lips found the top of my head in a soft kiss, and when he pulled back, there was a lightness in his eyes. "Quit worrying for a second and enjoy the walk."

I looked up at him, feeling the gentle pull of his presence, the safe haven of his calmness. The tightness in my chest loosened just a little. His smile, reassuring and easy.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Okay," I whispered, my body already surrendering to the peace he was offering.

With that, he released me just enough for us to begin walking again. I followed him, each step lighter, my hand slipping into his, the connection between us solidifying like the soft pull of the ocean tide on a quiet shore.

We walked down to the beach, the sand warm beneath our bare feet, the sound of waves crashing in the distance. The beach was scattered with tourists and locals alike, but it felt as if time slowed, as though it was just the two of us in that moment—moving along the shoreline, away from everything that weighed us down.

We stopped at a small stall to grab fresh coconut water, the tropical sweetness cool against my lips as I took a deep drink. The sun was beginning to dip, casting everything in a soft golden glow. As we strolled along the water's edge, my feet sinking into the damp sand, I told Tristan about my time in Cuba—the long, sun-filled days and the vibrant nights filled with music and laughter.

He listened, intrigued, but then his voice cut through the noise of my memories, bringing me back to the present. "I went to India and Bali," he said, the quiet reverence in his tone drawing my eyes to him. "On a solo trip. Spent months out there. It was supposed to be about finding myself, but I mostly just ended up getting lost."

We both laughed, and for the first time that day, I felt a deep warmth spread through me, not just from the sun but from his words, from the way he shared his experiences with me—raw, unfiltered. As we talked, the world around us seemed to fall away, leaving only the rhythm of our conversation and the sound of the waves crashing at our feet.

The sun, now sinking into the horizon, set the sky ablaze. Shades of orange, pink, and purple spilled across the sky like paint, a breathtaking canvas of colors that shimmered and glowed as they danced across the surface of the sea. The sky seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the night to fall, but in those moments, everything felt perfect. The beauty of the sunset felt like a promise—no matter how difficult a day may have been, it would always end with this: something beautiful, something worth holding onto.

We stood in silence, side by side, just watching. And as the sky deepened in hue, my heart lightened. The world wasn't as dark as it had seemed. There was beauty. There was hope.

Later, we sat at a seaside restaurant, the sound of the waves mingling with the soft hum of conversation from other diners. The warm breeze tousled Tristan's hair as he dug into a spiced crab, the flavor clearly overwhelming him as he made a face, trying to take a bite that was a little too large. I laughed, unable to hold it back as I watched him struggle.

"How do you eat this thing without looking like you're about to explode?" I teased, my eyes sparkling with amusement.

He grinned back at me, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "I think I've lost the art of proper crab etiquette," he said, his tone playful, though there was something deeper in his smile—something softer, more real.

I smiled, feeling the warmth of the day seep into my bones. As the sun dipped further, and the soft, steady rhythm of the waves continued, I realized that, for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't afraid of what came next.

The sky had already fallen into the dark embrace of night by the time we returned to the hotel. The weight of the day—Kayla, the looming uncertainty of the court hearing—hung heavy on me.

We spoke briefly with Kayden and Tristan's family about our visit with Kayla, the words feeling distant and detached, as if the warmth of our conversation couldn't quite bridge the gap between the present and everything we were still processing.

Afterward, Tristan retreated for a shower, the sounds of the water hitting the tiles distant, a soothing escape for him. I, however, couldn't shake the exhaustion that curled around me, both physical and emotional. My phone buzzed with Belvina's name flashing on the screen, and I answered quickly, forcing a smile as we exchanged pleasantries. But it didn't take long for my fatigue to catch up with me. I ended the call and undressed, my limbs feeling heavy, and stepped into the bathroom.

The mirror fogged up as I stood there for a moment, staring at the reflection that seemed so distant—someone caught between who I was before and who I was trying to be now. With a sigh, I turned to the tub, but then, on a whim, changed my mind. I walked toward the shower cubicle and knocked lightly on the thick glass, a sound that barely broke the silence between us.

"Can I join you?" I asked Tristan who was standing under the shower and washing his hair.

He turned to face me with a soft, inviting smile. "Of course," he replied, stepping back.

I didn't hesitate, sliding the door open and stepping under the spray. The cold water hit me in an icy shock, and I shrieked slightly, pulling back instinctively.

"How in hell are you showering with that ice-cold water?" I shivered, trying to move out of the way of the spray.

Tristan chuckled, his laughter warm and deep, a sound that settled some of the tension in my chest. "It's been a hot day," he said, turning the temperature dial to adjust the water. "Feels nice."

I watched him adjust the flow, then, without hesitation, he reached for me, pulling me back under the water with him, the temperature now just right. The heat of his skin against mine seemed to soothe some of the restlessness in me.

"Can I wash your hair for you?" Tristan asked, his voice soft, tender in a way that made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

I nodded without a word, letting myself close my eyes as his fingers, warm and sure, massaged my scalp. The sensation was grounding, soothing, as he gently worked the shampoo through my hair. His touch was so effortless, yet it felt like the most intimate thing in the world—familiar, yet new, like we were rediscovering each other in a way we hadn't in a long time.

"Why did you cut your hair?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant as he continued to work his fingers through my damp hair.

I sighed softly, the weight of that question resting heavily on me. "I was having a breakdown," I said quietly, "It was actually shorter than this, but I like it."

His hands stilled on my head, and I could feel the change in the air between us. He was quiet for a long moment. I could sense the questions, the worry swirling in his mind, but I didn't want him to carry that burden any longer.

I turned in the space between us, facing him fully now. Our gazes met, and in his eyes, I saw that he was overthinking, weighing my every word, my every gesture. I couldn't let him spiral like that.

"I forgive you," I said, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. I meant it more than anything I'd said in the last few days. It was like a breath of fresh air, like a release.

He froze, his hands stilling as his gaze locked onto mine, wide with surprise. The words caught in his throat, but before he could say anything, I cut him off. "I want us to move on from what happened and be the best parents to Kayden and Kayla," I added, my heart aching with the weight of it. "I'm not promising anything, Tristan, but I want us to put our differences aside and focus on the twins."

Tristan's expression softened, the sharp edges of his thoughts blurring into something vulnerable, something raw. "I will take anything you give me if it means I don't lose you—and the kids—again," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I promise to make this work."

He reached up, his fingers brushing my foamy hair back, and I couldn't help but laugh as he smeared some of the shampoo foam across my cheek. It felt like a lightness I hadn't realized I'd been missing, the sound of his laughter mixing with mine.

I touched the scar on his side, the one he'd gotten from the shooting, tracing its curve gently with my fingertip. It was a silent reminder of everything he had endured, everything we had both survived. My fingers lingered, moving lower as my gaze followed, my breath catching in my throat. My body responded almost instinctively, heat unfurling inside me when I realized he was hard beneath the water's flow.

The shift in the air between us was palpable, charged with something unspoken, a hunger I could feel deep in my bones. Tristan's hand moved to my back, his fingers brushing along the curve of my spine as he rinsed the shampoo from my hair, the sensation of his touch sending shivers through me.

I tilted my head back, closing my eyes as his fingers stroked my scalp, the sensation almost too much, yet not enough. Was I so starved for intimacy that something as simple as Tristan washing my hair was enough to make my pulse race?

The thought barely crossed my mind before his hand slid lower, his fingers brushing along my throat, just a breath away from tightening, from claiming. My lips parted instinctively, my chest rising and falling as I opened my eyes to meet his gaze.

The hunger in his eyes was raw, untamed, and the air between us crackled with it. It was a warning—leave now, it seemed to say, or I would be unable to stop myself. And I knew in that instant that it wasn't just about the moment. It was about us, about what we were both capable of.

I pressed myself against him, drawn in by an invisible force, my palms sliding up his chest as the hot water pooled around us. It ran down our skin in rivulets, mingling with the heat of our bodies, the tension between us thick, electric, almost suffocating. My breath hitched, the air between us charged with a thousand unspoken things, a kind of longing I couldn't escape. I leaned in, heart pounding, but before I could close the distance, he spoke—his voice low, strained, like it was being wrenched out of him.

"Not like this."

The words landed heavy, crashing through the fragile moment. I froze, my body still pressed to his, but suddenly aware of the gulf between us. Without another word, he stepped away, leaving the water to rush over me, cold now, in the sudden emptiness of the space where he had been. I stood there, disoriented, heart stumbling over itself, trying to understand. Not like this. But what did that even mean? My thoughts tangled in confusion as I let the water wash over me, wishing it could erase the hollow ache that bloomed in my chest.

Later, we stood side by side at the sink, brushing our teeth in the awkward silence that had settled between us. The rhythmic sound of the toothbrushes, the minty taste in my mouth—it all felt so out of place. I stole a glance at him in the mirror, catching the briefest flicker of something dark in his eyes as I leaned forward to spit the paste into the sink. His gaze dropped to my ass, lingering there for a moment too long before he looked away. I nudged him with my elbow, laughing lightly, trying to dispel the weight between us. But the laughter was thin, a mask for the undercurrent of tension that neither of us dared acknowledge.

I stayed up on the phone with Vina who was quick to call me out on the change in my voice. I went to sleep on the leather sectional but ended up waking up in the bed.

∆

The date for the court hearing loomed closer, each day dragging with unbearable weight. One week. Just seven days to prove we were worthy of Kayla's future. The pressure was suffocating. Dr. Aracelly and Mrs. Gonzalez arranged another visit before the hearing.

By the morning of the hearing, my body had revolted in protest. My stomach churned, and I found myself running to the bathroom again, my hands shaking as I splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm the storm inside me. The weight of what was about to unfold felt like a tidal wave, crashing over me. I could barely keep myself together.

Tristan's was a rock, an unshakeable force, his hand never leaving my back as we stepped into the courthouse. The moment we entered the courtroom, the air shifted. It was cold, and the eyes of strangers made me feel small. The judge's face, stern and unreadable, sent a jolt of fear through my chest. I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around Tristan's arm as we made our way to our seats.

Mrs. Gonzalez was seated across from us, with Kayla in her arms, her small face just visible over the top of the chair. I couldn't help but look at her, my heart clenching at the sight. She had no idea what was going on—she just wanted to feel safe.

The hearing began, and the questions came fast. I stumbled over my words, trying to explain myself. I was on the defensive, scrambling for the right answers, my hands trembling as I spoke. By the end of the first round of questions, I felt utterly drained, my nerves on fire.

We took a break, and Tristan's presence beside me was a balm, though I knew even he was tense. We went over to see Kayla, needing to touch her, to remind ourselves of why we were here. His lawyer, Andrew, was working magic. His persuasion was subtle, smooth, each word calculated to win the case. But my heart couldn't rest until I knew Kayla was coming home.

Through it all, they didn't mention Ryan—not once did they bring up the mistakes of the past, or the reasons behind Tristan and my separation. No. They stayed focused on what mattered: our financial stability, the state of our relationship now, the custody arrangement, and—most importantly—our bond with the twins. Mrs. Gonzalez was asked about her observations on Kayla and our ability to be good parents. I watched her answer with quiet conviction, her words making my chest tighten in gratitude.

When the break ended, we filed back into the courtroom, the tension building. The judge's gavel hit the sounding board, and everything fell silent, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

"After listening to both sides," the judge began, her voice stern but measured, "by the power vested in me, I hereby restore the parental rights of Tristan Sanchester and Chloe Simpson to their daughter, Kayla Simpson."

The words hit me like a wave, and before I could even think, I was up from my seat, my legs trembling beneath me. I felt the air around me crackle with joy, with relief, with everything I had hoped for and feared all at once. I looked at Tristan—his face, a mirror of my own disbelief—and I knew, right then, that everything was finally going to be okay.

The judge's face softened, just the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, a gesture I would hold onto for the rest of my life.

"Oh my God, we got Kayla back!" I couldn't help it. The words flew out of me before I could stop them, and I wrapped my arms around Tristan, pulling him close.

He pulled me into him with a deep, relieved breath. His hand cupped the back of my neck, his thumb brushing gently over my skin, and I felt the tension leave his body, felt him finally exhale.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his lips pressing into my hair. "Yes, we did."

We took Kayla for a walk before she had to leave with Mrs. Gonzalez. The air was thick with the anticipation of what was coming, the promise of a new beginning, yet I could feel the weight of everything still hanging in the air. Kayla was quiet beside us, her small hand in mine, her other hand clutching her little dog, her constant companion. Tristan walked beside me, his pace quickening every time he glanced at the clock. Dr. Aracelly had told us it would take a few days for the paperwork to be finalized, and Tristan was counting the minutes, as if the world could finally fall into place once it was done.

We shared the news with our families—our voices bursting with joy, with a relief that felt like an unbearable weight being lifted. The cheers, the shrieks, the overwhelming excitement could have been heard a mile away, but I didn't care. This was our moment. The moment we'd been waiting for.

Andrew worked tirelessly on the immigration papers, moving mountains to get Kayla back home.

Wednesday arrived, and we were finally able to pick up Kayla from her foster parents. Mrs. Gonzalez, so kind and generous, didn't hesitate to embrace us with warmth, her gratitude written all over her face. Tristan, always the man of honor, insisted on offering them money for their kindness, but they refused. "It's our job," Mrs. Gonzalez said with a humble smile, "just doing what needs to be done."

That afternoon, we visited Mrs. Rodriguez. The moment she saw Kayla, the floodgates opened. She cried tears of joy, her hands trembling as she cupped Kayla's face. I stood back, watching the raw emotion pass between them. It made my chest tighten in a way that both hurt and healed at the same time.

We spent the rest of the day at the zoo, letting Kayla wander the paths with us, taking in the sights, the animals, the world around her. We had a picnic under the shade of a tree, Kayla sitting close to Tristan as if she couldn't bear to be more than a few feet away from him. She still didn't speak, and I couldn't help but worry. Was something wrong? Was it normal for her to be this quiet?

The next morning, we prepared to head home. The paperwork was cleared. We had the approval we needed. Kayla was officially ours, and now it was time to bring her back to the place she would call home. The flight was long, but Kayla slept through it all, her little head resting against my shoulder as she snuggled into the seat beside me.

When we landed and made our way from the airport to the Sanchesters' estate, I felt a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

My breath caught in my throat as we approached the steps. I held Kayla's dog in one hand while Tristan carried her in his arms, his gaze fixed ahead with a quiet determination. When we rang the doorbell, the maid opened almost immediately, her smile wide and welcoming.

"Welcome home, Kayla!" The words rang out, followed by a burst of excitement from the family gathered inside. The room was decorated with bright pink balloon letters that spelled out Welcome Home, Kayla. It was like a birthday party, except this one was for a new life, a new beginning. Customized t-shirts and hats in her honor were neatly arranged, and the centerpiece—a cupcake stand overflowing with colorful cupcakes—made my mouth water.

I blinked, taking in the sight. Tristan's family was here, of course, and my own family, too. Adrian, Vina, even Ciara was there, standing among them, her smile hesitant, yet warm. The sight of so many familiar faces made me feel a bit dizzy, but the excitement in the room was palpable.

Nana, her voice filled with tears, was the first to speak. "She is so adorable," she said, her eyes never leaving Kayla, who clung to Tristan's side. Her small body seemed so fragile next to his.

Tristan leaned down, whispering to Kayla, his voice soft, "New faces, huh?"

Nora entered, carrying Kayden. The moment he saw us, he wriggled free of her arms, running toward us with all the excitement only a little boy could have.

"Mommy!" he screamed, and I dropped to my knees to scoop him up. He laughed and put his arms around my neck, pressing his cheek against mine.

"Hey, sweetie," I whispered, pressing a kiss to his soft skin. His giggles filled me with warmth, a reminder of the joy in our lives.

Tristan spoke up, explaining, "She needs a little time to adjust to the new faces, and it's been a long flight." His voice was steady, his eyes never leaving Kayla as he looked at our family.

I turned to Kayden, and for the first time, I saw his eyes lock with his sister's. I smiled, noticing the silent exchange between them. She hadn't spoken yet, but her gaze was intent on him, and I could see something shift in her.

I turned to look at Kayden and found him staring at his sister, I smiled when I noticed she was staring back at him.

"Say hi to your sister."

"Hi," he said and giggled and for the first time since we got Kayla back, I saw her smile.

We spoke with everyone for a short time before Tristan went upstairs with Kayla and Kayden in his arms, it was a beautiful sight. Ciara walked up to me with tears glistening in her eyes. I pulled her into a hug before she could say anything.

"I'm so sorry for everything, Chloe."

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered.

∆
A week had passed since we returned, and though Kayla had settled in, she was still finding her footing with the rest of the family. She had grown more comfortable with Kayden and Tristan than anyone else, but there was something incredibly special about watching the two of them together. She became a whirlwind of giggles and playful noise when Kayden was around, a stark contrast to the quiet little girl we first met. The bond between them was instant—Kayden, with his boundless energy and infectious laughter, and Kayla, with her bright eyes and hesitant smile. It was beautiful to witness, and for the first time, I felt hopeful about what the future might hold for them.

I spent every moment I could with her when Kayden wasn't tugging her into some new adventure. She'd still retreat into herself at times, but I was learning how to read her, how to coax out the girl she was underneath the silence. Each small breakthrough made me feel like we were heading in the right direction, like there was still so much to discover.

It was Wednesday night, nearly ten o'clock, when I finished my call with Ciara. The conversation about our parents' divorce had been difficult. My dad wasn't ready to come back, no matter how many times my mom begged, how many promises she made. It was hard to hear, and even harder to accept. The pain in Ciara's voice lingered as I hung up, but it was familiar—an ache I had lived with for far too long.

I stretched and yawned as I climbed the stairs, the weight of the day beginning to settle in my bones. The soft hum of laughter reached me from Tristan's room, and I paused, confused. I thought the twins had already been asleep. With a tired smile, I pushed open the door.

What I found made me laugh, despite myself. Kayden and Kayla were jumping on the bed, their little voices shrieking with delight. Tristan, sprawled out next to them, was clearly out of it—his exhaustion evident as he slept, one arm draped across the sheets, his face relaxed in a deep, much-needed rest.

I shook my head, stepping into the room. "Okay, it's time for bed," I called, my voice light, but firm.

Kayden immediately darted to the other side of the bed, his giggles filling the room like music. Kayla, always in step with her brother, followed suit, both of them laughing as if this were a game.

Tristan stirred when Kayden fell on top of him, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the way he groggily pulled himself upright.

"Come here, you minions," Tristan mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, but his arms were wide open to both of them.

"Let's go to sleep, Mommy's tired," he said, his voice now clear and warm, a hint of affection laced in his words as he pulled the twins closer, snuggling them in with him.

The room quieted almost instantly, and a wave of relief washed over me. I stood by the door for a moment, taking in the peaceful sight of them lying together, the soft rise and fall of their chests in sync. But just as I started to turn to leave, Tristan's voice called out.

"Cassie," he said, his tone low and gentle, like a soft command I couldn't resist.

I turned, meeting his gaze.

"Yes?" My voice was barely above a whisper, unsure of what he was thinking, but trusting him all the same.

"Come here."
He tapped the space next to the twins.

Without another word, I climbed into the bed, settling beside the twins. They were awake, but they remained silent, their small hands clutching the sheets as they laid next to their father. Tristan leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to each of their heads, the tenderness in his touch making my chest tighten.

He then turned to me, brushing his lips across my forehead in the same gentle, intimate gesture.

"Goodnight, I love you all," he said and turned off the lights.