Invisible String

35

The next morning, I heard the soft creak of the door before I could even open my eyes.

“Mama, you have no shirt on... and neither does Daddy,” Lily said, her voice filled with innocent confusion.

I groaned quietly and pulled the comforter up higher. Travis blinked awake beside me, clearly trying to register what was happening.

“Lil,” I said gently, reaching a hand out from under the blanket, “you’ve gotta knock before coming in, baby.”

She climbed up on the bed anyway, completely unfazed. “But I wanted cereal.”

Travis chuckled, still half-asleep. “Cereal emergency, huh?”

I looked at him, both of us stifling laughs. “Crisis averted,” I whispered, and then looked at Lily. “Alright, let’s go get some breakfast. But next time… knock, deal?”

“Deal,” she said with a grin, already bouncing off the bed and down the hall.

I flopped back against the pillow, rubbing my face. “We’re never getting away with anything, are we?”

“Not a chance,” Travis muttered, grinning as he got up to follow her.
I lay there for a second longer, staring at the ceiling while the morning light crept in through the curtains. My body was still tired, but the kind of tired that felt earned. Good, even. And with Lily’s cereal emergency resolved, the quiet hum of the house told me we had maybe five more peaceful minutes before Mira woke up.

I eventually rolled out of bed, tugged on my robe, and padded toward the kitchen. I could already hear the soft clink of a spoon against a bowl and Lily’s chatter echoing down the hallway.

“Daddy, you poured too much!”

“That’s what legends are made of,” Travis said dramatically. “A bowl of champions. Overflowing with possibilities… and probably milk.”

I smiled as I turned the corner and saw them: Lily perched at the counter, her tiny feet swinging beneath her, Travis crouched beside her with a dish towel dabbing at a splash of milk on the floor, his hair a chaotic mess from sleep.

“Morning, cereal heroes,” I said.

Lily beamed at me with milk on her chin. “I saved it!”

“You sure did,” I said, kissing her head as I passed, then brushing my fingers across Travis’s shoulder. “Thanks for getting up with her.”

He glanced up at me, eyes still a little bleary. “Always. You feeling okay?”

I nodded softly. “Getting there.”

He reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Mira’s still out. You want me to get her when she wakes?”

I shook my head. “No, I want to. I think I want to take her on a walk after she nurses. Just me and her.”

Travis smiled at me with that quiet knowing he always seemed to have when I needed it most. “Good. I think that’ll be good for both of you.”

I poured myself some coffee and leaned against the counter, watching my daughter spoon soggy cereal into her mouth with wild, joyful aim.

This—this was the kind of messy, ordinary magic I’d been craving.

The wind had that November bite to it—crisp, but not cruel. The kind that wakes you up a little, clears the fog from your head. I tugged Mira’s little hat down over her dark curls and zipped her into her fleecy footie suit before wrapping a blanket around her. She blinked up at me from the stroller, cheeks flushed pink from the cool air, a pacifier bobbing lazily between her lips.