Page 96 of Where She Belongs
Her laugh echoes through our kitchen—our kitchen, where we’ll raise our family, where we’ll build our future. Where the longest road finally led us home.
EPILOGUE
“Mama,”Sofia coos as I kiss her fluffy head.
“Soon, cariño. Mama’s almost done,” I murmur, shifting her in her carrier as I read through patient records on my tablet.
At sixteen months old, our daughter is a perfect mix of both of us, with Gabe’s unruly curls and my eyes, her father’s natural charisma and what my mother likes to call my unbreakable willpower. Or justmatigas na ulo. Hard-headed. Stubborn.
Sometimes when I watch Sofia sleep, I think about those years I missed with Tristy—all the moments my parents witnessed while I was drowning in medical textbooks and when I finally graduated med school, hospital rotations and residency. There were so many firsts I only saw in photos: first steps, first words, first everything.
Now at twenty-nine and expecting her own baby, Tristy jokes that Sofia is my “do-over,” but it’s more than that. It’s asecond chance to be the kind of mother I couldn’t be before—present, engaged, balancing career and family instead of having to choose.
When my parents decided to move back to New Mexico from the Philippines last year to be closer to our families, they offered to watch Sofia just like they had with Tristy. But I couldn’t do it. Even with the demands of my practice, even with the three-hour commute that first year before we restructured the clinic’s leadership, I needed to be the one raising my daughter this time.
Gabe understood without me having to explain. He saw how I struggled with guilt over those early years with Tristy, how determined I was to do things differently with Sofia. He rearranged his schedule to accommodate mine, transformed his home into a family-friendly haven, and never once questioned why I insisted on being the one to handle midnight feedings and early morning cuddles, even when I was exhausted from juggling clinics.
“You’re not making up for anything,” he told me once, when he found me crying over old photos of Tristy’s childhood. “You did the best you could then, and you’re doing the best you can now. Both choices were made with love.”
Looking at Sofia now, secure against my chest while I work from home, I’m grateful for this chance to mother differently. Not better—because having my parents live with me to raise Tristy while I pursued my dreams gave her opportunities I couldn’t have provided otherwise—but differently. More present. More intentional.
Simply more.
Like the positive pregnancy test that sits in my pocket like a talisman, still unbelievable even after three confirmations.
At forty-five, I hadn’t expected... well, I hadn’t expected a lot of things. Like how completely my life would change when my best friend offered to pretend to be my boyfriend at my daughter’s wedding.
And now we’ve got one more bun in the oven. I hope it’s a boy this time. After that, we’re done. Or at least, this body is.
Through the window of our Taos home—no longer that awful builder’s beige that made Dax wince—I can see the garden we’ve expanded. My medicinal herbs now share space with Sofia’s play equipment and the vegetable beds Mama Vasquez insisted we needed “for proper New Mexican chilies, anak.” She’s taken to using Filipino terms of endearment, just as my mother now peppers her speech with Spanish.
My phone buzzes with a text from Maria, who’s transformed my Albuquerque clinic beyond my wildest dreams. These days, my role as Board Chair means quarterly meetings and big-picture decisions, leaving me free to focus on what I love most: practicing medicine and raising our family. The satellite clinic has flourished too, becoming a model for rural healthcare access that’s drawn attention from medical schools across the country.
Sometimes I still can’t believe how perfectly everything fell into place—my practice thriving under new leadership, ourinnovative partnership expanding access to care, and most importantly, this family I never thought I’d have at this stage of my life.
“Mama?” Sofia stirs against my chest, little fingers curling into my shirt. “Papa?”
“Soon, baby girl.” I kiss her curls, marveling at how much she looks like Gabe when she’s sleepy. “Papa’s just finishing up with his last patient.”
As if summoned by our conversation, I hear his SUV in the driveway. Sofia perks up at the sound, suddenly wide awake.
“Papa!”
The front door opens, and there he is, still in his white coat but carrying a familiar box from Chokola. Some things never change, including how my heart still skips when he smiles at us.
“There’s my girls.” He sets down his medical bag and the chocolate box, reaching for Sofia who practically launches herself into his arms. “How are my favorite patients?”
“We’re not your patients,” I remind him, though we both know he checks our charts religiously. “And one of us just woke up from her nap.”
“Ah, but you’ll always be my favorite case study in love at first sight.” He leans in to kiss me, Sofia giggling between us. “Even if it took me ten years to admit it.”
My hand drifts to my pocket, where the test waits to be shared. “Speaking of case studies...”
“Hmm?” He’s distracted by Sofia showing him her newest word—’tetoscope’ for stethoscope.
“I might have an interesting one for you to review.” I pull out the test, holding it where Sofia can’t see. “Preliminary results just came in.”
Gabe freezes, then slowly looks from the test to my face. “Andie?”
