Page 46 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
She considers this for a moment, then shrugs with the easy acceptance of childhood. "Okay. But we're still a family, right? All of us together?"
"Always," Daegan and I say at the same time, and the certainty in our voices makes both children smile.
Taran is quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. When he finally speaks, his voice carries a maturity that sometimes catches me off guard.
"Can you tell me more about him? About Korrun? About what he was like?"
My heart clenches with love for this boy who wants to know his history, who's brave enough to ask for stories about a father he'll never meet but who loved him completely.
"He was stubborn," Daegan says with a laugh that holds no pain anymore, only fondness. "Stubborn as a taura and twice as protective. He could never back down from a fight, especially if someone he cared about was threatened."
"Sounds familiar," I murmur, glancing pointedly at Taran, who has the grace to look sheepish. Just last week, he'd gotten into trouble at the market for defending a younger boy from some bullies.
"He was gentle too," I add, my voice soft with memory. "So careful with things that were precious to him. He used to worrythat his hands were too big, too rough, but they were perfect for taking care of others. For helping with the trees when we planted the orchard together."
"Did he want me?" Taran asks, and the vulnerability in the question makes my throat tight.
"Oh, sweetheart," I breathe, reaching for his hand. "He wanted you more than anything in the world. He used to talk to you when you were still in my belly, telling you stories about the places he'd been. He had so many plans for when you were born, so many things he wanted to teach you."
"He would have loved you fiercely," Daegan adds, his voice steady and sure. "Just like I do. Just like your mother does. Just like he loved all of us."
Cai pushes herself up and crawls into my lap, settling against my chest with the boneless trust of a child who has never doubted her place in the world. Her warmth seeps through my dress, solid and real and infinitely precious.
"I'm glad Uncle Korrun was Taran's first father," she announces with the matter-of-fact wisdom that children sometimes possess. "Because that means Taran has extra love. And I'm glad Dad is both our father now, because that means we're really family."
Taran nods thoughtfully, then looks at Daegan with those amber eyes that carry traces of a man he'll never meet but whose love shaped his very existence.
"Will you tell me more stories about him? About Uncle Korrun?"
"As many as you want," Daegan promises. "Every letter he wrote, every memory I have. He was your father first, Taran, and he deserves to be remembered. To be part of who you become."
The fire crackles and settles, sending sparks up the chimney as the autumn wind rattles the windows. But inside our small home, wrapped in warmth and truth and the unshakeablecertainty of our love for each other, everything feels exactly as it should be.
I catch Daegan's gaze across the hearth, seeing my own contentment reflected in his sea-glass eyes. There is no grief there anymore, no shadow of loss or uncertainty. Only love—deep, steady, and enduring. Only gratitude for the life we've built together, for the children who call us home, for the quiet miracle of finding happiness in the most unexpected places.
And I'd never take any of it for granted. Not when I've been far more blessed than I ever deserved.
