"Nothing," I said, shaking my head softly. Then curiosity tugged at me. "Actually... can I see a picture of your baby?"
"Of course." His whole face lit up as he pulled out his phone again, swiping quickly before holding the screen toward me. A tiny girl filled the frame—round cheeks, dark eyes shining, a bow in her hair. She was beautiful.
"She's adorable," I said, meaning every word.
His pride was undeniable, his eyes glowing as he looked at the photo. "Yeah... she's my everything." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with a little laugh. "I was just FaceTiming them. I, uh... thought I should tell her I ran into my ex-fiancée tonight. You know, for honesty and respect."
"Good," I said warmly, touched by his candor. "And... she was okay with it?"
He grinned. "She laughed, actually. Said, 'yeah, yeah, anyway, bring me that delicious apple pie on your way home.'" His chuckle was boyish, infectious, and I found myself laughing with him.
"Sounds like she knows she has nothing to worry about," I teased.
"Exactly." He nodded, his expression softening. "She knows I'm crazy about her and, truthfully... I never stopped therapy. Even when it was hard. We went to couple's therapy too, at first—back when we thought we'd only co-parent. It helped us figure out what we really wanted, helped us learn how to love without fear and somewhere in the middle of all that work... we realized we wanted to be a family."
"It's crazy," I said softly, "we both ended up meeting our soulmates eventually."
Aaron's smile was gentle, a little wistful. "Yeah. I really want to thank you, June. You were always a good partner, and a good person to me. I'm sorry for all the pain I caused, but... I'm glad it led us both here, to the people we're meant for." He tilted his head, eyes sincere. "Is he treating you right?"
I laughed, light and unrestrained, almost like a goddess laughing at the sky. "Liam? Like a goddess."
"Good." His relief was genuine. "You deserve it."
"You too, Aaron."
We hugged goodbye—warm, final, —and I left. In the car, as the city lights blurred past the window, I dialed Liam.
He picked up on the first ring. "Hey, love."
"I... met Aaron tonight," I said carefully.
A pause, then his voice was steady, curious. "Oh? How's he doing?"
"Great, actually." I exhaled, letting the truth roll out. "We caught up on our lives. He's a dad now. He's engaged. And I—" My voice faltered.
"You can cry, Celestia," Liam murmured, his tone soft as velvet. "I know when you're holding it in."
My throat tightened, and the sting of tears gathered before I could stop them. I gave a shaky laugh, wiping at my eyes. "I hate that you always know when I'm about to cry," I whispered, voice breaking. "And I don't even know why I am. It's not sadness—it's... too many feelings at once."
I took a breath, heart pounding as I met his gaze. "I love you—no discussion, no doubt about that. I'm really, truly happy with you. Happier than I've ever been. But I'm also... happy for Aaron. I want him to be okay, to find joy too. It was so sweet seeing him again and realizing he is happy. And..." my voice faltered, almost afraid of the answer, "are you mad at me for feeling that?"
"No, never," Liam said, his voice calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of my emotions. "You're crying because it's happiness layered on happiness. Because you know that choosing me didn't make him miserable. And you're glad—truly glad—because it means both of you get to live the love you were meant to find. That's what makes your heart ache in this sweet way—it's joy, not sorrow."
He paused, letting the words sink in, "You're safe with me, Celestia, and you're allowed to feel all of this at once."
I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, tears spilling but a smile breaking through. "God, I love you."
"I know," he whispered back. "And I love you more."
On the drive home, Liam kept talking to me through the speaker, his voice all warmth and humor.
"You know," I sniffed, "you're too good at this. Always knowing what to say."
"Well," he said, mock-serious, "I have to make up for my culinary shortcomings somehow."
I laughed. "Shortcomings? You mean the fact that you can't cook an actual meal to save your life?"
"Excuse me," he protested, "I amexcellentat baking. My cookies are practically written in the stars. My brownies? Constellations of perfection. My cinnamon rolls? Milky Way material."
