The soft rustle of papers filled the quiet living room. Bella sat cross-legged on the rug, her sketchbook propped against a cushion, pencil tapping impatiently against the page. For the past hour she had been staring at half-finished lines, erasing and redrawing, but nothing seemed to flow the way she wanted.
Her mother's pendant lay beside the sketchbook, catching glints of sunlight that spilled through the tall windows. Every time Bella's eyes landed on it, her chest tugged. Inspiration… it was supposed to come from there. From memory, from love. But today it hid from her.
Her phone buzzed. The clock blinked two in the afternoon. She sighed, closing the sketchbook. Time to pick up Rachel. Work could wait—motherhood could not.
Rachel came skipping out of school, her backpack bouncing behind her, her smile bright enough to erase Bella's tired thoughts. "Mama!" she yelled, running straight into Bella's arms.
"How was my munchkin's day?" Bella asked, crouching low to meet her eyes.
Rachel scrunched her nose. "Math was boring. But guess what? I drew a cat in art class. Wanna see?" She dug through her bag before Bella could answer, proudly holding up a crayon-scribbled masterpiece.
Bella laughed, smoothing her daughter's hair. "That's the most beautiful cat I've ever seen. It deserves a pizza party, don't you think?"
Rachel's eyes widened. "Really? Can we go to our place?"
Minutes later, they were seated at their little neighborhood pizzeria—the one where the staff knew Rachel's name and her love for extra cheese. Rachel munched happily, her feet swinging under the chair, while Bella savored the rare peace.
It felt good—just the two of them, no schedules, no deadlines. Just laughter, greasy fingers, and the comfort of belonging.
Bella's phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen, her lips twitching upward. Lucas.
Rachel noticed instantly. "Dada?" she whispered, eyes bright with excitement.
Bella swiped to answer, and Lucas's face appeared on the screen, framed by the sleek background of his office. He leaned back in his chair, dark brows lifting. "So," he drawled, "a secret pizza party without me?"
Rachel giggled, her mouth stuffed with cheese. "Dada, we forgot to invite you!"
Lucas narrowed his eyes, pretending to sulk. "Forgot, huh? Betrayed by my own family. And here I thought I was the provider of pizza funds."
Bella rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "Don't be dramatic. You were working."
"Still," he said, leaning closer to the camera, voice mock-hurt. "I like pizza. And yet…"
Rachel burst into laughter, nearly tipping her drink. "Next time, promise! Cross my heart!" She crossed her little arms over her chest with solemn exaggeration.
Lucas's expression softened instantly. "I'll hold you to that, princess." His gaze flicked to Bella then, lingering a little longer than necessary, quiet warmth swimming in his eyes. Bella felt it in her stomach, like a ripple she wasn't prepared for.
By the time they returned home, Rachel was yawning. She clutched her stuffed bunny and let Bella guide her to bed for a nap.
The house quieted again. Bella settled at the table with her sketchbook, pendant now clasped gently in her hand. She ran her thumb across its worn surface. Mama, what would you make? What would you tell me if you were here? She sighed, her pencil still.
"Mama," a soft voice broke her thoughts. Bella looked up. Rachel, half-asleep but awake now, padded into the room. "What're you drawing?"
Bella smiled faintly. "I'm trying to design something for a competition, but my ideas are hiding today."
Rachel climbed onto her lap without invitation. "You need a hug," she declared. "Hugs make ideas come."
Bella chuckled, hugging her close. "Is that your secret magic?"
"Mm-hm." Rachel pressed her cheek against Bella's chest. "Now you'll draw something beautiful. You'll see."
The room filled with giggles and the soft scratch of pencil as they doodled together—Rachel adding hearts and stars, Bella trying to shape a design out of lines and memories. For a moment, it didn't matter if it was competition-worthy. It was theirs.
The front door clicked open just as Bella was erasing another crooked curve. Rachel's head popped up. "Dada's home!" she squealed, scrambling down and running to the hallway.
Bella followed slower, her chest tightening unexpectedly. Lucas stood in the doorway, tall and composed, but his hands weren't empty. In one he held a bouquet of deep red roses, in the other a ribboned box. His eyes softened when they met hers, as if all the exhaustion of his day had faded the moment he stepped in.
"For you," he said simply, holding out the roses.
Bella blinked, warmth creeping into her chest. She took them carefully, their fragrance filling the air. "Lucas…"
"And for my little princess," Lucas bent down, handing Rachel the box. Rachel gasped, hugging the box to her chest. "You're the best Dada ever!" She threw her arms around his neck, and he scooped her up with a quiet chuckle.
Bella stood watching, roses cradled in her hands, and for a moment she wondered if she should step out of this scene—because it looked too perfect, too fragile, like something she might break if she breathed too hard.
"Come here," Lucas's voice pulled her back. He tilted his head toward the living room, where Rachel was already spreading their doodled papers across the table. "Apparently I missed an art exhibition?"
Within seconds, mother and daughter were both explaining lines and shapes with excited gestures, while Lucas listened with feigned seriousness, nodding like a judge at a grand show. He teased Rachel for drawing too many stars, teased Bella for her overuse of curves. And yet his eyes lingered whenever she laughed, as though he was memorizing the sound.
Later, the kitchen filled with the clatter of pans and the smell of garlic. Rachel insisted on being "sous chef," handing out ingredients like a boss. Lucas chopped vegetables with ease, Bella stirred the pan, and Rachel kept sneaking chocolate bites in between.
"Rachel," Bella warned, suppressing a laugh, "that's supposed to be after dinner."
Rachel grinned, chocolate smudged across her lip. "But I'm taste-testing!"
Lucas ruffled her hair, handing Bella a spoon. "She's just like you. Can't wait for dessert."
Bella shot him a look but couldn't hide her smile. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," he said softly, eyes holding hers a second longer.
And for a fleeting moment, it felt like the kitchen walls weren't walls at all, but the frame of a home they were quietly building—together, piece by piece.
After dinner they decided to watch a movie. The three of them—Lucas, Bella, and Rachel—were curled together under one large blanket, a bowl of popcorn long forgotten on the coffee table. Rachel, for once, was wide awake, her laughter ringing out louder than the movie itself. Every now and then, she would nudge Lucas's arm and whisper her theories about the characters, and Lucas, patient as ever, listened with an indulgent smile.
By the time the credits rolled, the clock had already struck ten. Rachel's eyelids were finally drooping, but Bella… she shifted on the couch, hand instinctively resting over her belly. Her stomach gave a quiet growl. Lucas noticed immediately, head tilting toward her.
"Hungry again?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes softened with concern.
Bella nodded, sheepishly. "Kind of." Then, after a pause, she confessed, "Actually… it's more like a craving."
Rachel perked up at the word. "Like ice cream?" she asked, voice heavy with sleep.
Bella shook her head slowly, cheeks warming as if she were about to admit a secret crime. "No. Something… weird."
Lucas's brow rose. "Define weird."
She hesitated, then muttered the words as if saying them too loudly would make them more embarrassing. "Pickles with… whipped cream."
Lucas stared at her. Blinked once. Twice. Then let out a low, disbelieving laugh. "That's not food, Bella. That's an abomination."
She gave him an exaggerated pout, resting her palm protectively over her small bump. "The baby wants it."
For a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose as if weighing the battle between logic and Bella's pleading eyes. He sighed, defeated. "You realize I'll lose my dignity forever if I walk into a store and buy both pickles and whipped cream at this hour?"
Rachel giggled, clapping her hands. "Dada, you have to! Baby wants it."
Lucas cast them both a look that was half annoyance, half utter devotion. "You two… are going to be the end of me." He rose from the couch, tugging on his jacket. "Fine. But don't say I never fulfilled your demands."
While he was gone, Bella carried Rachel to her room, settling beside her for a bedtime story. Rachel leaned into her, eyelids fluttering shut as Bella's gentle voice lulled her to sleep. By the time Lucas returned, a paper bag dangling from his hand like a trophy of war, Rachel was already tucked under her blankets.
Bella padded into the kitchen, eyes lighting up at the sight. "You actually did it."
Lucas placed the jar of pickles and the can of whipped cream on the counter with a dramatic flourish. "Don't ever question the lengths I'll go for you—or for this little one." His hand brushed lightly against her belly, and for a fleeting second, Bella forgot to breathe.
She tried the strange combination with a little hum of delight, her face glowing with satisfaction. "Mmm. Perfect."
Lucas leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of amusement and awe. "I can't believe you're enjoying that."
Bella licked a bit of cream from her finger and smirked. "Don't judge me. This is heaven."
His gaze lingered on her longer than she expected, as though memorizing the sight of her—hair falling messily over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with childlike joy. And in that moment, as ridiculous as the craving was, he thought she had never looked more beautiful.