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But Maggie is here. Lucy is happy. And when I look down at the wildflowers winding across my arm, I know exactly what they mean.

We made it home.

My baby, Myla, chooses that exact time to wake up.

I glance down at the little face peeking out from the carrier strapped to my chest. Six weeks old, blue-eyed, dark-haired, and already convinced the world revolves around her. She blinks up at me, looking mildly offended by whatever dream she's been pulled out of.

"Good morning, troublemaker."

Her expression clears the instant she sees me. A grin spreads across her face, and my chest squeezes so hard it's embarrassing.

Nobody adequately explains this part of parenthood.

People try. They really do. Then you have a baby, and suddenly a crooked smile can derail your entire day.

A shadow falls across us.

I look up to find Briggs heading my way with enough supplies to survive a week long camping trip.

"Need anything?" he asks.

"Briggs, you're carrying three bags."

"That's not an answer."

I laugh. "I'm fine."

"You forgot your water bottle earlier."

"One time."

"It was yesterday."

"Still one time."

He narrows his eyes like he's building a case against me.

Parenthood has turned him into a full-time safety inspector.

Before he can continue his interrogation, Ashby walks out of the courthouse balancing a cardboard drinks carrier.

"Coffee delivery," he announces. "You're welcome."

Briggs takes a cup. "Nobody asked you."

"People shouldn't have to ask for basic human rights."

"You think caffeine is a human right?"

"I know it is."

Ashby hands me my cup before Briggs can argue further, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

A familiar click draws my attention.

Torin steps through the courthouse doors with a camera hanging around his neck.

Myla spots him immediately. Her eyes widen. She lets out an excited squeal and starts kicking hard enough to rock the carrier.