Adrian
“You’re not checking your phone,” Serafina says, her voice cutting gently through the low hum of the room. “That might be a first.”
I glance down at the table, then at my empty hands, as if only now realizing they aren’t curled around a screen. “Is it?” I ask. “I hadn’t noticed.”
She studies me the way she always does when something has shifted, her gaze unflinching but not invasive. “You usually notice.”
Matteo snorts softly from my left as he tears a piece of bread. “Careful,” he says. “If Adrian stops monitoring the universe, we might all miss an update.”
Lucia smiles at that, meeting my eyes briefly before setting a glass of water near my elbow. She doesn’t announce it. She doesn’t ask. She just does it, like she knows where my space begins and ends.
“I still monitor,” I reply, reaching for the glass. “I just don’t need proof of relevance every five minutes anymore.”
Serafina’s brow lifts slightly. “That’s new.”
“It’s… quieter,” I say, searching for the right word. “I don’t feel like I’m bracing for something that might be taken away.”
Across the table, Lucia tilts her head. “That sounds like balance.”
“It feels like it,” I admit.
From the other room, Aurelia’s laughter bursts out, loud and unfiltered, followed by Leonel’s irritated protest. “You can’t just rewrite the ending,” he calls. “That defeats the entire structure.”
Aurelia’s voice follows, unapologetic. “It defeats your structure. Mine is better.”
Serafina smiles, not moving to intervene. “She gets that from you,” she says to me.
I shake my head. “She gets that from you. I just recognize it.”
Leonel appears in the doorway a moment later, clutching a book to his chest. He looks directly at me, not past me, not around me. “Can you help me with this?” he asks. “I don’t understand the middle part.”
“Of course,” I say immediately, pushing my chair back.
Serafina watches me stand, something like relief flickering across her face before she masks it with ease. “We’ll save you some dessert,” she says.
“I’ll hold you to that,” I reply.
Leonel leads me to the floor by the couch, sitting cross-legged with serious intent. Aurelia flops nearby, narrating some elaborate story to herself with dramatic arm movements.
“Okay,” Leonel says, opening the book and pointing. “This part here. Why does he leave if he still cares?”
I read the passage slowly, then glance at him. “Sometimes people leave because staying would make them smaller,” I say. “Or because they think leaving is the only way not to hurt someone.”
He frowns, thinking. “That’s stupid.”
I smile. “It often is.”
He nods, satisfied. “That makes sense.”
“Good,” I say.
“Thanks,” he adds, casual but sincere.
The word lands heavier than praise ever did.
Later, when the house quiets and the children are asleep, I stand by the window with Serafina. The city stretches beneath us, alive and indifferent. She leans against the frame, arms folded loosely, not guarded, just comfortable.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, and realize there’s no hesitation in it. “I really am.”
She turns slightly, studying my face. “You feel different.”
“I am different,” I answer. “I finally understand where I stand.”
“And where is that?” she asks gently.
I don’t rush the answer. “Here,” I say. “In your life. Not above it. Not at the center. Just… here.”
She exhales, something easing in her shoulders. “That’s exactly where you belong.”
The truth of it doesn’t sting. It steadies me.
“There was a time,” I admit, “when not being central felt like erasure. Like if love didn’t orbit me, it wasn’t real.”
“And now?” she asks.
“And now it feels stronger,” I say. “To be chosen without being consumed.”
She nods slowly. “That was always the goal.”
Lucia joins us then, resting her head briefly against Serafina’s shoulder. Matteo appears moments later with tea, setting the cups down without ceremony. No one looks at me to check if I’m all right with it.
That’s how I know they trust me.
Lucia glances at me. “You look… settled.”
“I am,” I reply. “For the first time, I’m not guarding a position that was never meant to be defended.”
Serafina’s gaze softens. “You taught yourself that.”
“Loving you forced the lesson,” I say honestly.
She smiles, just a little. “You always did learn the hard way.”
“True,” I admit.
As the night deepens and conversation drifts into silence, I feel something unfamiliar settle in my chest. Gratitude. For the place I occupy. For the trust extended to me. For the absence of rivalry where there once would have been fear.
I’m not the center of Serafina’s world.
I’m part of it.