“To what?” she asked softly.
“The Mother’s Day tea,” Liam said. “Only if you want to.”
Olivia paused. “I’m not your mom.”
“We know,” Luke shrugged. “But you make the house feel like it used to.”
She blinked back the sting behind her eyes.
“If the school says it’s okay,” she answered carefully, “I’d be honored.”
She didn’t say it with excitement. She said it like a promise.
Daniel heard part of that exchange from the hallway that evening. He didn’t step in.
That night, in the kitchen, he finally asked.
“What was the card?”
Olivia hesitated. “They invited me to the tea.”
“You said yes.”
“If the school allows it.”
Daniel exhaled slowly. “People will talk.”
“I know,” she replied gently. “If you’d prefer I don’t go—”
“It’s not about preference,” he interrupted. “It’s about what this looks like.”
“She was their mother,” he added quietly.
“I never thought I was replacing her,” Olivia said.
They stood in the space between caution and pain.
Later, Daniel couldn’t sleep. He walked the hallway. Paused outside the twins’ room. Across the hall, Olivia’s light was still on.
Underneath his discomfort, something unexpected stirred.
Gratitude.