Invisible String

54

Travis was in the kitchen scraping half-eaten cupcakes into the trash while Wyatt and Elliott helped stack paper plates into a leaning tower of chaos. Jason and Kylie had already left with Rhett and the rest of their crew after Rhett had a very dramatic diaper situation right in the middle of the “Happy Birthday” song.

I walked slowly through the room, stepping over a deflated balloon and someone’s forgotten shoe, and eased down onto the couch next to Lily. She stirred and looked up at me, her curls wild and stuck to her cheek.

“Is the party over?” she mumbled.

“Yeah, baby,” I whispered, brushing her hair back. “You had a good one.”

She gave a slow, satisfied nod. “Best birthday ever.”

“You say that every year.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Travis walked in and collapsed next to me, his arm slinging across the back of the couch. “Remind me never to let her talk us into twelve kids at once for a party again.”

I laughed, exhausted and full of cake crumbs and baby sweat. “Remind me not to plan a whole party while breastfeeding two babies and sleeping four hours a night.”

“You did amazing,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “Seriously. She felt so special today.”

I looked down at Baylor, who was finally dozing off again, his tiny fist wrapped around the collar of my shirt. “I hope she knows how much we love her. Even in all the chaos.”

“She knows,” Travis said, his voice soft. “She’s four. And she’s already the queen of this house.”

Lily stirred again and peeked up at me. “Did Baylor like my party?”

I smiled, shifting him gently. “He did. He told me he loved the balloons.”

She giggled sleepily. “And the cupcakes?”

“Especially the cupcakes.”

She grinned, eyes fluttering shut again.

The lights were dim, the dishes were still in the sink, and my feet ached from standing for hours—but I looked around at my family, our messy house, and the quiet that followed the storm of a birthday party, and I felt it settle deep in my bones.

This was our chaos.

And it was perfect.

Later that afternoon, the house was filled with a quiet buzz—the kind that came from toys scattered across the floor, crumbs trailing behind toddler feet, and birthday balloons bobbing lazily near the ceiling fan. Mira had finally gone down for a nap after three dramatic refusals and one very intense meltdown over a missing stuffed animal that ended up being under her own leg.

Travis had taken Lily outside to play with sidewalk chalk in the driveway, and I stayed inside with Baylor, curled up on the couch with my feet tucked under a blanket, his little body stretched out across my lap.

The sun was beginning to dip lower, that late winter golden-hour glow slipping through the windows and casting soft light over his perfect, sleepy face. His lips twitched in a dream, and I couldn’t stop staring at him.

I still hadn’t fully wrapped my head around the fact that he was here. That he exists.

Out of nowhere.

Unplanned.

And yet, so… right.

I ran my finger gently down his nose, then rested my palm over his belly. “I didn’t know I needed you,” I whispered, “but oh my God, I do.”