Mia's POV
Alexander shoots up in bed like someone electrocuted him. "REALLY? A REAL HOUSE? That you BUILT?"
"Shh, inside voice. And yes."
"A CASTLE!" Alexander shouts. "Is it a CASTLE? I want a castle!"
"Not a castle. A house. With bedrooms and bathrooms and—"
"And a SECRET ROOM!" His eyes are huge now, all traces of sleepiness gone. "Can there be a secret room? PLEASE? With a bookshelf door that swings open?"
"That's structurally complicated," Ethan says, but he's sitting up now too, interested despite himself. "The weight distribution of a bookshelf door would require significant reinforcement and—"
"I don't care about weight distribution! I want a SECRET ROOM!"
"But if we move..." Alexander's face falls suddenly, dramatically, like he's just remembered something terrible. "If we move, we'd have to say goodbye to everyone here."
"Yes," I say gently. "That's one of the things to think about. You'd have to say goodbye to the kids you play with in the building. To Mrs. Rodriguez next door who gives you cookies. To—"
"But we'd be in a HOUSE that MAMA BUILT!" Alexander interrupts, already recovering. "That's so cool. You know how many people's mamas build their houses? Probably like... zero people. Well, maybe some people. But not many people!"
"I still have friends from my old school," Ethan says thoughtfully. "The ones I liked. We could still see them. And the kids in this building..." He pauses diplomatically. "Some of them are fine but they're not my best friends or anything."
"What about you, Madison?" I ask, looking toward the doorway where she's appeared, drawn by the noise. "Would you want to move to a new house?"
She's quiet for a moment, her fingers playing with the hem of her pajama top. "Would my room be bigger?"
"Of course."
"Could I have a window seat? For reading?"
"Absolutely. "
"And could Daddy live with us?" Alexander blurts out.
The question sits in the air, heavy and complicated, and I feel something tighten in my chest because of course this is where we'd end up, of course this is what he'd ask, because children are nothing if not direct about the things adults dance around.
"Daddy has his own house, sweetheart."
"But he could have a room in our house! " Alexander is on his knees now, bouncing slightly on the mattress in his excitement. "And then he'd be there when we wake up and when we go to sleep and when we have breakfast and—"
I look at the three of them—Alexander still bouncing slightly, Ethan watching me with those serious eyes, Madison hovering in the doorway.
"Why do you want Daddy to live with us?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Uncle Thomas has been around a lot. He helps with homework and makes dinner and—"
"Uncle Thomas is nice," Alexander interrupts. "But he's not Daddy."

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