Page 105 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
Which, in our house, it probably was.
Charlie looked up from her book as we entered, her face lighting up with the kind of smile that had been healing broken hearts in our family for years. At eleven now, she was growing into the confident, creative, endlessly curious person we'd always known she could become.
"Emma wants to hear about the triceratops again," Charlie reported. "I think she's going to be a paleontologist when she grows up."
"Good career choice," Reed said, appearing from the kitchen with what appeared to be the components of dinner prep. "Steady work, and you get to dig things up."
"Where are Jonah and Micah?" I asked, noting the unusual quiet that meant at least one alpha was missing from our usual afternoon chaos.
"Dad's at a job site, finishing up some emergency repair. Should be home by six," Charlie said. "And Micah's testing new recipes for the autumn menu. He said something about 'seasonal flavor profiles' and disappeared into experimental baking mode."
This was our life now. Not the dramatic, crisis-driven existence I'd known with Marcus, but the steady rhythm of people who'd chosen each other and built something sustainable together. Work that mattered, children who were loved, a community that supported us, and love that grew stronger rather than more fragile with time.
Ordinary magic, as I'd once called it.
Extraordinary magic, as it actually was.
That evening, after Emma was asleep and Charlie had finished her homework and we'd all gathered in the living room for ourtraditional family time, I found myself looking around at the life we'd built and feeling overwhelmed by gratitude.
Jonah was reading construction journals, occasionally sharing interesting details about sustainable building practices. Reed was sketching plans for a workshop expansion, his focus interrupted every few minutes by suggestions from Charlie about optimal tool organization. Micah was testing frosting recipes, offering samples to anyone willing to provide feedback.
Just a Tuesday night in our house. Just our family being our family.
"What are you thinking about?" Micah asked, noticing my observation mode.
"This," I said, gesturing around the room. "All of this. How different everything is from what I thought my life would look like."
"Better or worse than you imagined?" Reed asked with a grin that suggested he already knew the answer.
"So much better that I sometimes think I'm going to wake up and discover it was all a dream."
"Not a dream," Jonah said quietly, his blue eyes warm with the steady love that had anchored our family from the beginning. "Just what happens when you're brave enough to choose happiness."
"Are you happy, Kit?" Charlie asked with the directness that had characterized her since she was seven years old and decided I belonged in her family.
I looked around at my pack. At Jonah's quiet strength, Reed's protective mischief, Micah's gentle wisdom, Charlie's bright spirit, and the baby monitor that carried the soft sounds of Emma's peaceful sleep.
It was a question I would never have to think about how to answer. Because I felt it in my heart every day.
I was more than happy. I was home.
"Yes," I said simply. "I'm happy. I'm home. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, with exactly the people I'm supposed to be with."
"Forever?" Charlie asked, because she was still young enough to need that reassurance sometimes.
"Forever," I promised, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
Forever.
Later that night, when the house was quiet and my pack was settled around me in our nest, I lay awake listening to the sounds of our life. Reed's steady breathing, Micah's soft sighs, Jonah's protective presence, Emma's whispered sleep sounds through the monitor, and the knowledge that Charlie was safe in her room down the hall.
This was what happily ever after looked like.
Not a destination you reached and then stopped growing, but a choice you made every day to build something beautiful with people who chose to build it with you.
Not perfect, but real.
Not easy, but worth it.
