Page 119 of Worth the Fall

Felicity beams. "Can we bring the glitter paints? Every nursery needs glitter."

"Maybe we stick to regular decorations," I suggest quickly, catching Miguel's amused look. "Remember what happened last time we let Esperanza near glitter paint?"

We all glance at the ceiling where a faint sparkly patch still catches the light despite multiple cleaning attempts. Esperanza looks entirely too proud of her permanent contribution to our home decor.

Later that night, after bath time (which somehow resulted in more water on the floor than in the tub) and bedtime stories (three books for Esperanza because she's mastered the art of "just one more"), Miguel and I collapse onto the couch.

"Whitman offered me the partner track today," I say quietly, curling into his side.

Miguel sits up straighter, his face breaking into a proud grin. "Mia, that's incredible! Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I wanted to process it first," I admit. "It's going to mean longer hours, more responsibility. I don't want to miss any moments with the girls."

"Hey." He turns to face me fully, his expression serious. "You're an amazing mother AND an incredible lawyer. We'll make it work, just like we always do. The girls are so proud of you—you should hear how Felicity brags about her lawyer mommy to everyone at school."

"Really?"

"Really. Last week she told her entire class that you fight bad guys with your magic briefcase."

I laugh, the tension in my chest easing. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"You've got this," he says softly, pulling me closer. "And you've got us. Always."

I rest my head on his shoulder, thinking about how far we've come. Three years ago, I was a mess of anxiety and perfectionism, trying to control every aspect of my life. Now here I am, surrounded by chaos and love, finally understanding that the best parts of life are the ones you can't plan for.

The quiet moment is interrupted by a small voice from the hallway. "Daddy? Mommy? I had bad dream."

We look up to see Esperanza clutching her unicorn , her lower lip trembling slightly. Without hesitation, I open my arms and she runs to us, climbing onto the couch and wedging herself between us—just like she does every night, bad dream or not.

"Want to tell us about it?" Miguel asks, brushing her curls back from her face.

She shakes her head, snuggling closer. "Can you just hold me?"

"Always, baby," I whisper, sharing a look with Miguel over her head. This right here—this is everything I never knew I needed.

Tomorrow will bring new challenges. There will be more glitter explosions and crayon masterpieces, conference calls scheduled during dance recitals that we'll have to navigate, and endless moments of beautiful chaos that no amount of color-coding could prepare me for.

But tonight, sitting here with my daughter's warm weight against me and my husband's steady presence beside us, I know with absolute certainty that this is exactly where I'm meant to be. This messy, wonderful, glitter-covered life we've builttogether—it’s better than any perfectly planned future I could have imagined.

Three years ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted and how to get it. But life had other plans—better ones. It gave me a love story that started with a pickleball to the face and ended with a family that's perfectly imperfect in all the best ways.

And I wouldn't change a single sparkling moment of it.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table—it's Celine.

"Hey," I answer softly, trying not to disturb Esperanza who's finally drifted off between us. "Everything okay?"

"I think…" Her breath catches. "I think it's time. The contractions started about an hour ago."

I'm immediately alert, carefully shifting Esperanza to Miguel's lap as I stand. "We'll be right there. I'll call your mom to watch the girls."

Miguel reads the situation in my face and nods, already moving to carry Esperanza back to bed. Within thirty minutes, we've got both girls settled with their grandmother, and we're heading to the hospital to meet Celine and her husband, Mark.

"Remember when this was us?" Miguel asks as we navigate the quiet streets. "You threatening to never let me touch you again?"

I laugh, remembering the intensity of that day. "As I recall, you handled my labor rage quite gracefully."

"I had excellent motivation." He grins. "Our little unicorn princess was worth every crushed finger."

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