Ethan

The Three of Us: The apartment wasn’t much—just two small bedrooms, paint peeling in spots, and a view of the grocery store parking lot—but to Maya, it felt like the center of the universe. Because it was where she, Ethan, and their daughter, Lily, lived. Ethan was only twenty, and Maya nineteen. Some nights, when Lily cried at 3 a.m., they looked at each other with bleary eyes, silently wondering if they were in over their heads. But then Ethan would scoop Lily up, whispering nonsense words that always seemed to calm her, and Maya would feel her heart swell. Somehow, they were making it work. One Saturday morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting gold stripes across the floor. Lily was sitting in the middle of the carpet, wobbling between sitting and standing, her chubby fingers wrapped around a stuffed bunny. Ethan crouched nearby, coaxing her. “Come on, baby girl,” he urged, holding out his arms. “Just one step.” Maya leaned against the doorway, watching. There was something about Ethan in those moments—his patience, his gentleness—that reminded her why she’d fallen in love with him. Lily took a shaky step forward, then another, before tumbling straight into Ethan’s chest. He laughed, scooping her up and spinning her around until her giggles filled the room. Maya couldn’t stop smiling. When Ethan finally set Lily down again, he looked over at Maya. His grin softened into something quieter, almost shy, the same way it had when they first met years ago.