The Ferrari Family

1. The House on Willow Lane

Two years.

That's how long the Ferrari family had lived in their dream home on Willow Lane—two years of fresh paint turning into familiar scuffs, of corners becoming comfort, and of rooms learning the sound of laughter again. The house didn't feel new anymore. It felt claimed. Lived in. Loved.

The backyard had become the heart of it all.

Fairy lights still hung across the pergola from the night Damon proposed—because nobody in this family ever took anything down when it held a memory. Charlotte refused, in the gentlest but most stubborn way. The lights had been there a year now, woven through vines and wrapped around beams like they'd always belonged.

Damon's proposal had been exactly the kind of perfect that suited Stella and him.

Candles lining the stone path. Roses everywhere—too many, honestly, but Damon had insisted. The whole backyard glowing like a movie scene, while Stella stood there with her hands over her mouth, eyes shining so brightly Henry could still picture it if he closed his own.

The ring had caught the light.

So had Stella's tears.

And Damon, who always acted like he was made of confidence and charm, had been shaking. Not much. But enough for the family to notice.

Now, a year later, Stella wore that ring like it was part of her skin.

And the backyard didn't look like a proposal site anymore.

It looked like a battlefield.

Because Malakai and Lottie were two years old, and toddlers didn't care about romance.

They cared about speed.

Right now, the backyard was alive with squeals and stampeding feet—Malakai running with a plastic dinosaur clutched in his fist, Lottie chasing him like her entire world depended on catching him. Their laughter was wild and bright, the kind that bounced off the fence and made even a tired adult smile without meaning to.

"Malakai!" Mia called, half-laughing, half-panicked as she jogged after him. "No—don't put that in your mouth!"

Ezra stood near the patio, coffee in hand, watching the chaos with the kind of pride that made his chest feel too full.

"That's my girl," he murmured when Lottie launched herself toward Malakai with a dramatic toddler battle cry.

"She's your menace," Damon corrected, stepping out the sliding door with his tie half-done and his blazer draped over his arm. He looked too polished for this house, like he'd accidentally walked out of a city office into a family storm.

Lottie saw him and immediately switched targets.

"Uncle Daaa!" she shrieked, arms up.

Damon froze like he'd been cornered by a tiny bear.

"Mia," he warned, laughing. "Collect your child."

Mia's eyes sparkled. "She's not mine. She's Ezra's."

Ezra pretended to be offended. "Excuse me? I'm the fun parent."

"And I'm the one who stops her from eating rocks," Mia replied sweetly.

Damon scooped Lottie up anyway—because he always did—and she wrapped herself around him like she owned him. Malakai, not wanting to be outdone, ran straight into Damon's legs and grabbed onto his knee.

Damon looked down at both of them clinging to him and sighed dramatically.

"I'm being attacked," he announced.