Page 262 of Scaled Baby Daddy
Jesse chatters softly about lights and sounds and “big music,” his words tumbling over each other as he tries to process everything he just saw.
Tilda walks beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush every few steps.
Not by accident.
Not anymore.
By choice.
We reach the exit.
The night air hits cool against my skin, carrying the distant hum of the city and the faint scent of something blooming somewhere nearby.
I inhale deeply.
Feels different out here.
Quieter.
Real.
Tilda glances up at me.
“So,” she says. “What now?”
I look at her.
At Jesse.
At the life waiting in front of us.
“Now?” I echo.
I shift Jesse higher, reaching out with my free hand to lace my fingers through hers.
“Now we go home.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “We do.”
And for the first time?—
It doesn’t feel like something I’m running toward or away from.
It just feels like where I’m supposed to be.
