The next morning began later than usual. Eli had slept in, tangled in his sheets, Thunder's cape draped across his chest like he'd been knighted in his dreams.
Aria stood in the doorway of his room, sipping her coffee, quietly watching him stir awake.
"Morning," Eli mumbled, eyes barely open. "Is it Saturday again?"
"It's Sunday," she said. "Close enough."
He stretched with a groan. "Do we have to do anything today?"
"Not unless you count brushing your teeth as a major event."
Eli gave a sleepy smirk. "Thunder says that depends on the toothbrush."
Downstairs, the house was quiet. No music playing, no cartoons, just the hum of the fridge and the clink of mugs as Aria loaded the dishwasher.
She didn't expect the knock on the door at 9:15.
When she opened it, Elias stood there holding a small cardboard box.
"Hey," he said, a little unsure. "Sorry. I should've called first."
"You're fine. Come in."
He stepped inside and handed her the box. "Eli left this in my car. It's his drawings from the fair. I figured he'd want them back sooner than later."
Aria nodded, setting the box on the kitchen counter. "He'll be happy. He was already planning the sequel."
"Thunder and the Secret Volcano?"
Aria blinked. "How did you—?"
"He told me yesterday, right before he fell asleep. Whispered it like it was top secret intel."
She smiled despite herself. "Sounds about right."
Elias leaned on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, not sitting, just hovering in that in-between place. "How was your night?"
"Quiet. He passed out early."
"Yeah," Elias said. "Mine too."
There was a pause.
"You want coffee?" she offered, half-turning toward the kettle.
He hesitated, then nodded. "If it's not a hassle."
"It's a button. Not a hassle."
They moved into the small kitchen rhythm they hadn't shared in a long time. Aria poured the water and reached for mugs automatically. Elias leaned against the counter, fingers drumming on the edge of the wood.
"You've changed the curtains," he said.
Aria glanced up. "They're just gray."
"They used to be yellow."
She shrugged. "Gray felt quieter."
He didn't respond to that. Maybe there was nothing to say.
Eli came bounding down the stairs a few minutes later, barefoot and beaming. "Dad! You're here!"
"I am. I brought your secret files."
Eli dove toward the box like it contained gold. "Yes! I thought I left these!"
He sat cross-legged on the floor, spreading the pages out around him like a gallery. Aria passed Elias a mug. He took it, and they both leaned against opposite counters, watching their son.
"You ever think we got lucky?" Elias asked suddenly.
Aria glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
"Eli. He's so... easy to love."
She nodded slowly. "He is."
There was something underneath his words—something he didn't quite say. Something like: we weren't always this easy.
Later, after Eli had finished his "gallery exhibit" and begged for pancakes, Aria found herself flipping through the stack of drawings. Thunder was in everyone, sometimes flying, sometimes underground, sometimes with a group of animals who appeared to be his sidekicks. There was even one where Thunder was sitting at a desk labeled "Director's Chair."
"You think we got lucky?" she asked again, quietly, as Eli ran off to find his markers.
Elias looked over. "Yeah. I do."
Aria didn't respond right away. Instead, she picked up one of the drawings—a picture of a tiger standing between two smaller figures that looked a lot like Eli's renditions of her and Elias.
"Do you ever wonder if we deserve that luck?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Sometimes. But he doesn't care about that. He just wants us around."
She nodded. Her thumb rubbed the edge of the paper, slow and thoughtful.
"I got invited to a dinner," Elias said after a pause.
Aria looked up. "Okay?"
"A company thing. Just a few of us. Small, casual. I can say no, but I thought…" He cleared his throat. "Thought maybe you'd come with me."
She blinked. "Like a date?"
"No," he said quickly. "I mean—not necessarily. Just… a thing. Two parents getting out of the house."
She studied him. He wasn't pushing. If anything, he seemed almost embarrassed to have asked.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know if I'm ready for… what that might feel like."
"I get that."
"But I appreciate the ask," she added. "Truly."
Elias nodded and didn't push further.
That night, after Elias had gone and Eli was finally asleep, Aria stood in the kitchen alone.
She stared at the empty mug Elias had used earlier. It was still in the sink.
There was nothing dramatic about the moment. No tears, no music swelling. Just a single mug in a sink, and a woman unsure of what she wanted.
She picked it up and washed it slowly. Carefully.
Then she sat down at the table, her fingers tapping on her phone screen until she pulled up a blank message:
If I said yes to the dinner, would that mean something?
She stared at the words for a long time.
Then deleted them.
Instead, she typed:
Let me know the details.
And hit send.
Elias replied within five minutes.
Friday. 7 PM. That place you liked—Cypress Room. Business casual, which means "don't show up in sneakers."
Aria read the message twice.
The Cypress Room. They hadn't been there since… before Eli. Before everything fell apart in quiet, exhausted pieces.
She didn't respond right away. Just stared at the screen like it might tell her how to feel.
Friday came faster than she expected.
The days in between passed with the usual routines—school drop-offs, work emails, laundry that never quite stayed folded. Elias didn't mention the dinner again, and Aria didn't bring it up. But Friday morning, when Eli ran ahead into the school building, Elias caught her by the car and said simply, "Still on for tonight?"
She nodded. "Still on."
That night, she stood in front of the mirror in her room longer than she should have. She hadn't dressed for anyone in a long time—hadn't put effort into anything beyond being functional. She didn't want this to be about vanity, but it felt symbolic somehow.
Eventually, she settled on a soft navy dress and a pair of simple earrings. She wasn't trying to impress anyone.
But she also wasn't pretending not to care.
Elias was waiting outside, leaning against his car. He looked up as she approached, and his smile was small but real.
"You look... good," he said, sounding like he didn't want to overstep.
"Thanks. You clean up alright yourself."
He opened the passenger door for her without comment, then walked around to the driver's side.
The car ride was quiet at first. Not awkward. Just quiet.
He glanced over once. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Neither was I."
"That's honest."
"I figured there's no point pretending with you."
"Fair."
They didn't speak again until they reached the restaurant. It wasn't crowded—just a low buzz of conversation, the clink of plates and glasses. Familiar.
A hostess led them to a table near the back, more private than expected. Aria smoothed the napkin in her lap and looked around. The last time they'd sat here, she was pregnant, and they were still pretending nothing would ever change.
Now, everything had.
The people from Elias's team were already there—a woman with bright eyes and easy laughter, a man with an opinion about every dish, and another who had their inside jokes. They welcomed Aria like they'd known her longer than a few minutes.
"It's nice to finally meet the woman behind Thunder," one of them said with a grin.
"Oh, I'm not the genius. That's Eli."
"Modest too. We've heard the stories."
Elias looked over at her once, as if checking to see how she was doing. She offered a small smile in return.
She wasn't uncomfortable. Just… out of place. Like trying on a dress she used to wear every day, but now fit differently. Not better or worse—just not the same.
As the night wore on, plates were cleared and laughter bubbled louder, Elias leaned in toward her during a lull.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
She raised a brow. "I didn't say I was great. I said fine. Different standard."
He chuckled. "Touché."
"I forgot how exhausting these things are."
"You're doing better than I am."
"Not true. You've always been good in a room."
Elias tilted his head, curious. "You used to be too."
She hesitated. "Yeah. I guess I lost it."
"Or you outgrew it."
"Maybe."
He didn't push. Just let the silence settle.
And then, after dessert had been served and the conversation turned toward a conference none of them wanted to attend next month, Aria excused herself and stepped outside for air.
The night was cool. She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned on the stone railing outside the restaurant.
The quiet was what she needed. Not dramatic. Not heavy. Just hers.
A few minutes later, the door creaked behind her. She didn't have to look to know it was him.
"Too much?" he asked, standing beside her.
"I'm not used to pretending I'm someone else anymore."
"You weren't pretending."
"I was trying."
He nodded. "Yeah. I saw that."
They stood there, side by side, watching the city move around them—cars passing, voices drifting, lights blinking somewhere in the distance.
"You asked me last time what the problem was," Aria said suddenly.
Elias turned to her. "Yeah."
"It's not hope," she said quietly. "Hope's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
She looked down at her hands. "Fear."
"Of what?"
"Of being wrong about you again."
The words hung in the air like something fragile. Elias didn't rush to respond. Didn't fill the space.
Finally, he said, "I don't blame you for that."
She looked at him. "I wish I did."
"I'm not going to ask you to forget how we got here," he said. "But I'll keep showing up. If that's worth anything."
She nodded once. "It might be."
It wasn't a promise.
But it was a door.
Back inside, they returned to the table, but something had shifted. Not publicly. Not visibly. But privately, quietly.
When the night ended and they walked back to the car, Aria was the one who said, "It was good. I'm glad I came."
And Elias didn't say much. Just looked over and smiled like he knew not to say too much.
Like he knew enough to let her find her way back.