When It's Summer in London

The London sun was warm, for once. Real, golden sunshine spilling through the balcony doors and lighting up the nursery floor where Olivia was sitting - surrounded by stuffed animals, babbling like she was telling them secrets.

I was halfway through folding tiny onesies when she looked up and grinned.

"Mamaaa!"

That sound still melted me every. single. time.

Asher had just left for training, and the apartment still smelled faintly of his cologne - comforting and annoyingly addictive. I pressed a hand against my growing bump and laughed softly.

"You hear that, little one?" I whispered to my stomach.
"Your big sister already has the spotlight. You'll have to keep up."

The baby kicked, and I gasped - smiling through it.
Olivia clapped like she knew exactly what happened.

"Kick!" she giggled, and I swear my heart almost exploded.

Outside, the city hummed - buskers playing on street corners, the smell of coffee drifting through open windows. London in summer always felt alive... but this year, it felt different.
Softer. Warmer. Full of love and beginnings.

I leaned back, closing my eyes as Olivia crawled into my lap.

"You think Daddy's ready for two of you?" I asked her.

She just laughed, drool on her chin, like she already knew the answer.

And maybe she did.

Because when the door opened and Asher's voice filled the hallway -

"Girls, I'm home!" -
I felt it again. That same rush I'd felt the first day I met him.

My life was loud, messy, unpredictable.
And absolutely perfect.