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Andrea stirs, snuggling into the familiar warmth behind her, his arm draped over her, his breathing in sync with her own. She shifts slightly, her hand reaching for his to gently pull away without waking him. The boys are bringing Jonah today; there’s much to prepare.
As her fingers tingle touching his calloused hand—the one that holds her heart—she feels the warmth begin to fade, the comforting weight of him slipping away. Slowly, she turns, her heart fluttering with the hope that maybe the dream isn’t over yet.
Her gaze falls on the empty space beside her, and the familiar ache resurges, the finality of reality settling in.
With a trembling hand, she reaches for the empty spot, her fingers brushing against the cool sheets that are supposed to hold warmth and love. Closing her eyes, she wishes for just a moment longer, trying to recall the ephemeral feeling that caresses her in her dreams but abandons her every morning. Just a moment—that’s all she needs, a fleeting second borrowed from her dreams to face the day without him.
She takes a deep, shuddering breath and steels herself to rise from the bed, the light of the morning already creeping through the curtains and casting the soft glow of a new day in a world where life just goes on.
She sits at the edge of her bed, reaching for the alarm clock to turn it off before it goes off. She chuckles softly when she notices that, once again, it’s one minute away from going off—just like every day, as if the dreams allow her to join Gabriel as long as she’s back at this exact time.
Her eyes drift to the picture of him on the nightstand, and she leans in, pressing a tender kiss to the cool surface where Gabriel’s smile shines back at her, for her.
“Buenos días, mi amor,” she whispers, as if he could hear her if she just kept her voice low enough, careful not to alert reality that she’s back.
She gets up and walks to the curtains, spreading them apart to let the light in. The sky is blue, without a cloud in sight; the sun is slowly rising, ready to shine down on Austin at full power by lunchtime. The branches sway in the morning breeze, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound breaking the silence of the early hours. It’s another beautiful day that Gabriel isn’t here to see.
Pressing her lips together, she turns to head toward the kitchen, the familiar routine guiding her steps. She starts brewing her coffee, letting the sunlight illuminate the countertops, while she turns on the TV for the news—mostly background noise in an otherwise quiet home.
Back in the bedroom, she pulls out a blue dress with white flowers embroidered on it, perfect for summer. Just as she finishes getting ready, the aroma of brewing coffee wafts through the air. She heads back to the kitchen, briefly considering preparing breakfast as she reaches for the toaster, only to abandon the thought. Just coffee for now.
Outside, she settles into the chair on the front porch and watches the neighborhood come to life: Mrs. Melendez walking Missy as she does every morning, Mr. Davis quietly closing the front door as he leaves for work—always careful not to wake his children—and cars gleaming in the sunlight as they traverse the street.
At first, when Gabriel died, she thought the world would lose its charm, but it didn’t. The skies that stretch on forever, the laughter of her grandchildren, the days spent with her family—like today—are still beautiful, despite the loss of its most vibrant soul. Yet guilt nests in her chest, a shame for going through life without Gabriel. Sometimes, she wishes she had died that night instead of him—a fleeting thought quickly discarded. It feels selfish; it’s better this way. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself if Gabriel were the one who had to endure this. It’s better if she bears the pain of losing the love of her life instead of him.
Sometimes, she wonders if Gabriel has forgiven himself for leaving her. She knows it's not his fault—he was taken from her—but she can’t suppress the anger bubbling inside her. His job was dangerous, and Andrea had restless nights during their marriage, always wondering if a drug dealer would put a bullet between Gabriel’s eyes or if a bomb would take him from her. In the end, it was a friend who took him from her, and that bastard almost took her son, too.
She’s proud of all the changes Gabriel brought to the Texas Rangers, but if he had been an accountant or a teacher, he would still be here. She shakes her head, always coming back to the same thought each morning with Gabriel’s touch still lingering on her skin: What if?
Gabriel was a Texas Ranger, and he was proud to be one, just as he was proud to be a husband and father. She doesn’t wish his life had been different; she loves him for who he was, despite the gaping hole in her chest that his death carved.
She takes another sip of her coffee and waves at Mrs. Melendez as she walks past her front yard. Her phone buzzes against her leg, and she looks down to see a text from TK: a photo of Jonah asleep, his head nestled against TK’s pillow. Behind him, Carlos is also asleep, his mouth agape and his left arm poking out from beneath his pillow.
Chuckling, she saves the photo in the album she has specifically for her boys, which is filled with moments captured from their lives as parents.
Heading back inside, she places the empty cup in the sink before stepping into the backyard, where the sweet fragrance of blooming jasmine and vibrant marigolds envelops her.
As she takes her first step into the garden, the grass sways gently in the breeze, brushing against her calves—it needs mowing. She had planned to tackle that yesterday evening, but as soon as she mentioned it on the phone, Carlos was quick to volunteer for the job.
“We could also bring Jonah if you’d like. I know it’s not Sunday, but I have the day off tomorrow,” he had said. Andrea isn’t naive; she recognized that her son was using Jonah as a clever excuse to ensure she wouldn’t suffer a heat stroke—summer is hot even in the evening. And how could she refuse? What kind of abuela would she be if she did, after all?
Walking through the grass, she reaches the tomato plants, which flourished in the early summer. She picks a few ripe ones for today’s meal. Although blindsided by Carlos’ sudden proposal for lunch together, she has enough leftovers to prepare a satisfying spread for tacos, and these tomatoes will also be perfect for guacamole.
A small pang of nostalgia tugs at her heart as she thinks about how much food she still makes. It’s challenging to scale down after so many years of cooking for two. To be fair, she always prepared extra to share with her children. Plus, cooking brings her some comfort, though it feels incomplete without Gabriel.
He used to chatter endlessly, sitting in a chair or leaning against the counter. “If you have to keep complaining, you can do that on the couch,” she would tease after the fourth time he mentioned one of his colleagues' latest blunders. He would look her straight in the eye, a grin on his face. “No, we’re cooking.”
While Andrea was the one doing all the cooking, Gabriel would help when asked, but mostly, he just wanted to be near her, softly humming songs while they worked side by side. And when it came to their barbecues, she would get her revenge; she would stand right there with him, gossiping about their neighbors as he meticulously assessed the meat on the grill, humming along to her sometimes-made-up tales. She chuckles again, thinking of how silly they were, but they were silly together.
Back inside, she sets a centerpiece on the table with some grapes and peaches, grabbing a handful for herself as she heads to the living room, where the TV is still on.
She sits in her usual spot, idling away by resuming her crosswords—some say it’s for old people, but Andrea thinks it’s fun, and perhaps she is older than she’d like to admit.
As she contemplates why ‘a feeling of deep admiration for someone or something’ translates to “revetence” instead of “reverence” in her crosswords, her gaze drifts briefly out the window. Something catches her attention, and a smile dances across her lips.
The bell rings, and she opens the door, revealing Carlos with his hands resting on Jonah’s shoulders, TK with a bag over his shoulder, and Jonah beaming up at her, his big brown eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Abuela!” he squeals, almost leaping into her arms, wrapping his small arms tightly around her waist.
“Hi, Jojo!” she responds, her heart swelling as she hugs him back, threading her fingers through his soft, tousled hair, feeling the warmth of his little body against hers.
“Hi, mijos,” she adds, glancing up at her boys who stand before her in well-worn, breathable cotton t-shirts and knee-length shorts, with TK wearing a baseball cap turned backward, clearly ready for the gardening mission no one had asked them to undertake.
“I hope it’s not too early,” TK says, a smile playing on his lips. “We just wanted to make sure we had time to tackle the backyard before the sun shines down on us with its full concentrated power.”
Jonah bounces on his feet. “I need to pee!” he shouts, dashing past Andrea and galloping down the hallway toward the bathroom.
“Go, mi amor,” she urges, stepping aside and watching him sprint away, chuckling at the whirlwind that has invaded her home.
As Carlos and TK step inside, Andrea wraps her arms around both of them in a warm embrace. “How are you two doing?” she asks.
“We’re good,” Carlos nods, but she can clearly see the shadows under his eyes.
Just before she can open her mouth, TK speaks up, a teasing lilt in his voice. “This one,” he says, pointing at his husband, “stayed up all night trying to decide what school bag to buy for Jonah.”
“Well, one of us has to make sure Jonah is ready for school,” Carlos defends, crossing his arms.
“I already took care of that; you just don’t like my choice,” TK counters, rolling his eyes as he drops the bag next to the couch and takes out a pair of gardening gloves.
“It’s a good choice, TK, but it’s not the one I would’ve picked,” Carlos retorts, ever the stubborn one over the smaller details.
“It was literally in your list of recommended options you sent me last month from work,” TK counters, raising an eyebrow and smirking.
Carlos raises a finger, but a yawn escapes him, and he squints his eyes, the words slipping his mind.
“Babe, you barely woke up this morning. Enjoy some rest. I can do this on my own,” TK says, rubbing a hand over Carlos’ arm, his expression a mix of concern and affection.
“I’m fine. I’m not letting you do all of this on your own,” Carlos replies, glancing at the garden through the kitchen window, his brow furrowing in judgment.
“Boys, there’s no need. I can take care of my own garden, thank you,” Andrea interjects, feeling a twinge of frustration.
“I know you can, Mom, but it’s really hot outside,” Carlos says, stepping out into the backyard with TK in tow, who hands him another pair of gloves. “Plus, this is good practice for when we'll have our own garden,” he adds, offering her a smile.
Andrea follows them outside, taking in the poor state of her garden. It's not just the grass that needs cutting; weeds sprout in patches, unruly vines creep over her fence, and a few wildflowers peek through—though she doesn’t mind those. It’s not so bad, just a little wilder than it used to be. And despite her reluctance to admit it, they’re right about the heat—it saps her will to tend to her garden.
As she turns back, she hears little footsteps on the hallway floor and watches Jonah reach for the fruit on the kitchen table, his eyes wide with delight.
“Fine,” she relents, a smile breaking through her previous irritation. If they want to sweat and toil in her stead, she won’t stop them.
“I’ll mow the lawn; you take care of the vines on the fence?” Carlos half-mumbles, half-asks, pursing his lips as if pondering a life-or-death decision.
“Yep, and we need to tackle the weeds,” TK replies, gesturing toward the patches sprouting throughout her garden.
“What’s a weed?” Jonah asks, emerging from the kitchen, munching on grapes.
“Did you wash your hands?” TK inquires, arching an eyebrow at him. Jonah shakes his head vigorously.
“Okay, you two have fun out here, but please put on sunscreen, especially you,” she says, casting a mock-serious look at TK.
As she leads Jonah back inside, she leaves Carlos and TK to care for her garden. Shaking her head slightly, she watches them move around each other, feeling a tug at her heart at how similar their dynamic is to that of her and Gabriel. She has never been more certain of true love in action—how they live for one another from the moment they met.
“Wash your hands, mijo,” she instructs softly, her voice laced with warmth as she watches Jonah dart toward the kitchen sink, his little feet pattering against the tiles.
Andrea takes a moment for herself, leaning against the cool, polished counter, the hum of the lawnmower roaring to life outside. She glances over at Jonah, who is meticulously drying his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Are you excited about school, mijo?” she asks, her tone light and encouraging, but she’s met with an immediate squint from Jonah that makes her heart sink just a little.
He shakes his head vehemently, his small face scrunching up in a way that tugs at her heartstrings. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I want to stay with daddy. He said he can’t come to school with me.” The word "daddy" slips from Jonah's lips with an innocence that ignites a wave of warmth within Andrea. It’s a tender revelation; she’s heard him refer to Carlos as "papi" before, but this is the first time he’s called TK "daddy." She wonders if he’s ever shared this sentiment aloud with either TK or Carlos, but she’s pretty sure she would know if he had.
“Just think of all the friends you’ll make! And all the incredible things you’ll learn!” She tries to infuse her voice with enthusiasm, hoping to ignite a spark in his eyes.
“Like dinosaurs?” he asks, his interest piqued, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“Yes! Exactly!” Andrea replies. “You’ll be a dinosaur expert in no time!”
“I want to be a dinosaur doctor!” he exclaims, his eyes sparkling with a blend of determination and awe. Andrea can’t suppress a soft laugh, her heart swelling with pride at his ambition. Though she knows that such a dream lies beyond the realm of possibility, she chooses to keep that thought to herself.
Suddenly, a burst of laughter drifts through the window from the backyard, and Jonah’s gaze flits toward the sound, his enthusiasm rekindled. “I want to garden too!” he declares, his voice a bright spark of excitement.
“You’re too young for that, Jojo,” she replies, her tone gentle but firm, watching as his radiant smile begins to dim. Sensing his disappointment, she quickly adds, “But what if we made some lemonade together? We could squeeze the lemons, stir in the sugar, and bring it out for your dads. Then, after that, we can prepare lunch together so that by the time they finish up, we can all eat together.”
Jonah's eyes light up at her suggestion, his earlier disappointment forgotten as he beams up at Andrea. “Yes! Lemonade!” he chirps, practically bouncing on his toes.
“Alright, let’s get to work,” Andrea replies, ruffling his hair affectionately.
She grabs a cutting board and a plastic knife, placing them in front of him. “First, we need to cut the lemons. Can you help me with that?”
“Yeah!” Jonah exclaims, standing on his tiptoes to reach the fruit bowl on the counter. He selects two plump lemons, their bright yellow skin gleaming in the sunlight. With a little help from Andrea, he learns how to slice the lemons in half, his small fingers clumsily gripping the knife with her guidance.
“Careful, mijo, remember to keep your fingers out of the way,” she instructs gently, watching as he mimics her movements with concentration.
After they’ve cut the lemons, she hands Jonah the juicer, demonstrating how to press down and twist to extract the juice. “You can do it just like this, but use all your strength!”
Jonah grunts as he squeezes the juicer, his little cheeks puffing out in effort. “I’m strong like papi!” he declares proudly, causing Andrea to chuckle.
Andrea measures out sugar, showing Jonah how to mix it with water. “Now we need to taste it. You tell me if it’s just right,” she says, pouring the mixture into cups and handing one to him.
Jonah takes a sip, his face lighting up. “Mmm! It’s good!”
“Great job! Now let’s get some ice and take it out to your dads,” she says, a smile spreading across her face.
They carefully carry the drinks outside, where Carlos and TK are still hard at work in the garden. The air is thick with the smell of freshly cut grass, with TK untangling the vines on the fence and Carlos kneeling in the grass to root out the weeds. They are quickly filling the bags with everything that doesn’t belong in this garden.
Carlos turns and grins at Jonah, who is practically bursting with excitement as he walks over to him, cup in hand. “You made lemonade?” he asks, wiping his brow and reaching for the cup. “You’re the best, buddy!”
TK straightens up, wiping his hands on his shorts and taking a cup from Andrea’s outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
“How is it going out here?” she asks, her gaze sweeping over the now more orderly garden.
TK shrugs. “Almost done,” he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion as sweat trickles down the back of his neck.
Andrea can’t help but press her lips together. “I can handle the rest; go inside, have a shower, and relax,” she suggests, her tone light but firm, earning a scoff from both Carlos and TK.
“We’re almost done anyway—another hour, maybe,” Carlos interjects, striding over to them and planting a kiss on TK’s cheek, scrunching his nose playfully. “Is Jonah giving you trouble?”
“No. We’re about to start preparing tacos, right, Jonah?” Andrea responds, smiling at her grandson.
Jonah nods eagerly, taking a long sip from his cup, a dribble of lemonade escaping and running down his chin. Andrea swiftly wipes it away with a tissue.
TK walks up to Jonah, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Tacos? You know how to cook tacos, buddy?”
“No, but abuela will teach me! I want to help you next time, Dad!” he exclaims, his little feet stomping toward one of the sacks filled with weeds, his curiosity piqued.
TK freezes, and Andrea can practically hear his heart thumping in his chest.
He darts his gaze between Jonah, Carlos, and Andrea, who beams at him. She was right; Jonah had never called him Dad before.
She can see his lips quiver as he struggles to find the right words. Carlos steps closer, wrapping a reassuring arm around his waist. “Dad,” Carlos whispers, his voice low and filled with pride. “Do you like it?”
“I—I’m not sure. Isn’t it weird?” TK replies, cautious not to let Jonah overhear. “I’m his brother.”
“Is it weirder than him calling his brother-in-law Papi?” Andrea muses, her voice light yet purposeful. “Besides, who says you can’t be both? You two are his parents, just like Gwyn and Enzo are. It’s unusual, sure, but it’s a testament to how many people love him and how many he loves back.”
“Papá and Dad,” Carlos repeats, pulling TK into a brief, tight embrace. TK rests his head on Carlos’ shoulder, still half-shocked but smiling through a happy tear that trickles down his cheek.
“I’m hungry!” Jonah quips, oblivious to the fact that he just made TK’s heart grow in size, tugging at Andrea’s dress with impatient enthusiasm.
Andrea claps her hands together, shaking off the tender moment. “Let’s prepare lunch then.” She turns to Carlos and TK, who seem momentarily lost in each other’s gaze, the weight of their new reality settling in. “Are you really almost done here?”
“Yeah, but we need to clean up and put everything away. It honestly wasn’t so bad, but it looks great now, doesn’t it?” Carlos replies, still caught up in the whirlwind of emotions.
“Let’s go, mijo,” Andrea pats Jonah on the back, and he eagerly follows her inside, leaving Carlos and TK alone to process the significance of Jonah’s new term for TK.
As she walks away, Andrea recalls the day Jonah first called Carlos ‘papá’. She wasn’t there, but Carlos had called her, his voice thick with emotion—pride mingled with fear.
“You provide for him, you teach him, you protect him; of course, you’re his ‘papá’, Carlitos,” she had told him when he inquired about overstepping boundaries, understanding the worries that clouded his mind. Just as she understands TK’s apprehensions now. It’s clear to her that they are Jonah’s dads. It’s not about replacing Enzo; he’ll always be Jonah’s father. But who’s to say a child can’t have three dads? After all, he already has six grandparents; the math seems sound.
In the kitchen, she watches over Jonah as he carefully slices the tomatoes she picked earlier, her hands guiding his as he grips the knife. It’s not sharp enough to injure him, but caution is always wise. “Watch your fingers, mijo,” she instructs, her voice gentle. Jonah hums in agreement, inching his fingers back from the blade, his focus intense. Once he’s done, he cheekily swipes a slice and pops it into his mouth with a beaming smile, his eyes sparkling as he looks at Andrea, who is now slicing the avocado.
“Okay, mi amor,” Andrea says, scooping the avocado into a bowl. “Now we need some lime juice to bring out the flavor.”
She glances over at Jonah, who is standing on a sturdy step stool beside her, peering over the counter. His bright yellow apron, which is just a bit too big for him, is splattered with a few drops of tomato.
Smiling, she hands him a small lime, already cut in half. “Can you squeeze this for me?”
“Yes, abuela!” he squeals, his face lighting up.
Jonah hovers his hand over the bowl and squeezes with all his might, his face scrunching up and his tongue peeking out.
“¡Muy bien!” she says, leaning down to kiss him on the head. She adds a pinch of salt and hands Jonah a wooden spoon. “Do you want to help me stir?”
He nods and reaches for the spoon, his little fingers gripping it tightly. Andrea wraps her hand around Jonah’s, gently guiding him.
Jonah’s low hum fills the kitchen as they mash and mix the ingredients together—a tune Andrea recognizes: the same one she and Carlos would hum when he was little and they cooked together often.
From the garden, she hears Carlos’ booming voice: “TK, don’t!”
She moves the curtain aside with her hand just in time to witness TK spray Carlos with the water hose before darting in the opposite direction, with Carlos chasing after him.
Chuckling, she reaches for the cilantro, joining Jonah in his humming.
“Now, let’s prepare the tortillas while the boys enjoy their little chase,” she suggests, setting a skillet on the stove. As she warms the tortillas, her heart swells with joy at the sight of the two out there, running laps around the house, as if they were teenagers in love.
The past two years have been a journey of healing for her Carlitos; the weight of Gabriel’s death once cast a long shadow over his spirit. He was always present, always eager to lend a hand, yet part of him felt distant, his mind constantly preoccupied with the lingering echoes of loss. But, as people say, time heals all wounds. Though it’s not really time that does it; it’s love—pure, unwavering love—that has mended his heart, a love that flourishes in the laughter of TK and the innocent joy of Jonah.
Though a part of him will always carry the ache of grief, it no longer suffocates him. She is thankful for how TK has stood by Carlos' side through the storm, for how Jonah has filled their lives with light, and for how Carlos found justice for Gabriel, even if the world remains unaware of the truth behind Bridges.
Jonah’s giggle pulls her back into the moment, his wide eyes darting between the window and the stove. “Can I help?” he asks.
“Of course! You can help me count the tortillas,” Andrea replies, handing him a stack. “Just place them on the skillet one by one, okay?”
“Okay!” he replies, his small hands working diligently to place the tortillas on the skillet, a few slightly crumpling under his grip, but she doesn’t mind, her heart swelling with pride as he focuses intently on his task.
Suddenly, the door swings open, and in come Carlos and TK, both thoroughly drenched and covered in grass and dirt, their laughter spilling into the kitchen as they attempt to catch their breath. Andrea raises an eyebrow, a playful smile creeping onto her face. “What happened out there? Did you two lose a battle with the hose?”
“TK started it!” Carlos declares dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at his husband, who lightly slaps Carlos on the shoulder.
Andrea can’t help but chuckle. “Alright, you two, go take a shower,” she instructs. As TK’s lips curl into a grin, she adds, “Separately!”
As Carlos and TK take turns in the shower, Andrea and Jonah finish preparing lunch. Andrea sets the table with care, arranging meat, beans, and a colorful array of toppings—sour cream, shredded cheese, salsa, and, of course, the guacamole they made earlier. Jonah carries the plates to the table, his small feet pattering excitedly against the hardwood floor.
Once they gather at the table, Jonah chooses to sit next to Andrea, facing TK and Carlos. As they begin to eat, each person constructing their taco with meticulous care, Jonah watches intently, mimicking the adults with wide eyes.
Andrea glances toward the head of the table, an empty space that feels both vacant and full of memories. She can almost sense Gabriel’s warm presence enveloping them, as if he were right there. A soft chuckle echoes in her mind as she watches Jonah tilt his head upward to catch the guacamole leaking from his taco, half smearing it on his face as he giggles.
After their meal, TK insists that everyone unwind while he tackles the dishes, moving around the kitchen with Carlos on his tail.
“You just sit back and relax,” he playfully chastises Carlos, who tries to lend a hand. Andrea watches with a smile as Carlos gives in, sinking into the couch beside Jonah, who quickly snuggles against his side as they both settle in to watch cartoons on TV.
By the time TK finishes washing the dishes and strolls back into the living room, Carlos is lightly snoring, with his head tilted back against the couch and an arm protectively wrapped around Jonah, who has also succumbed to sleep, his soft breathing mingling with Carlos’.
TK presses a tender kiss to both Carlos’ and Jonah’s heads, then sinks into the armchair next to Andrea, pulling out his phone with a wide grin.
“This moment is far too precious not to capture,” he whispers, snapping a picture of the duo. He sends it to Andrea, then sinks back into the plush embrace of the armchair, a deep sigh escaping his lips.
Andrea watches him closely, her gaze lingering on TK’s weary features and the weak but tender smile playing on his lips. “You both did too much for me today,” she murmurs, a twinge of guilt pricking at her heart as she takes in the exhaustion etched on their faces.
“Too much? Not at all,” TK waves her concern away dismissively, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “With everything you’ve done for all three of us over the years, this is the least we could do.”
“But I didn’t do anything extraordinary,” she replies, her voice soft yet firm. “I was just being a mother and an abuela. You don’t owe me anything.”
“It’s not about paying you back,” he insists, leaning forward slightly. “We wanted to spend time with you. Jonah adores you, and so do we. Helping you is something we genuinely enjoy.”
A shadow crosses Andrea’s vision as she contemplates his words. “I know I’ve changed since Gabriel’s death,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Who wouldn’t?” TK responds, his brow furrowing in empathy. “Carlos has changed too, and so have I. It’s part of the process.”
“Can I share something with you? Something I need to keep between us?” he adds hesitantly.
“Of course,” Andrea replies, giving him her full attention.
“Sometimes, I’m terrified for Carlos,” he confesses, his voice trembling slightly. “I know it sounds irrational, but I used to worry only about strangers, about criminals hurting him. Now, I find myself worrying about his colleagues too. I’m trusting them with my husband’s life, and after what happened with Bridges—” he trails off, casting his eyes downward in shame. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
“I worry too,” Andrea admits, her throat tightening. “I think it’s completely normal. I often blame myself for not seeing Bridges for the viper he truly was.”
“It’s not your fault,” TK reassures her, his tone firm yet gentle. “No one saw that coming—”
“I was his wife,” Andrea cuts in, her voice sharper than she intended, anger and regret swirling within her. “I should have insisted that he tell me more about his work, or… I don’t know.” The frustration bubbles up again, and TK stretches toward her, gently taking her hand in his. She lets out a soft sob, feeling the sting of tears welling in her eyes. After more than three years, sometimes the pain spikes.
“I just wish he were here to see Jonah, to see Carlos being a father,” she whispers, the ache in her heart shortening her breaths.
“He is,” TK assures her, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “I see him in Carlos every day: how he takes care of me, Jonah, and you, even when he’s running on empty after dedicating his energy to protect others at work; how he finds the time to take Jonah for ice cream; how he smiles at me when I surprise him at work with lunch.” A smile tugs at the corners of Andrea’s lips at that—a flicker of warmth amidst the sorrow. It’s something she used to do for Gabriel during the long, hard cases, and it’s something she had encouraged TK to do: give Carlos a brief moment of respite from the weight of the world.
“Carlos is the best man I’ve ever met, and that’s thanks to you and Gabriel,” TK adds.
She glances at Carlos and Jonah on the couch; for a heartbeat, the image blurs, and she finds herself transported back to a time long ago—a vision of Gabriel and Carlos, a fragment of the past intertwining seamlessly with the present.
“I see him in Carlos too,” she whispers, squeezing TK’s hand tightly. “Do you want to take a nap as well?” she asks, noticing the weariness in his eyes.
“No, I’m not that tired,” he replies, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“What if we baked some cookies?” she proposes. “For when these two wake up.”
“I’d like that,” TK responds, his eyes lighting up as he pushes himself up from the armchair.
They both quietly walk toward the kitchen, careful not to wake Carlos and Jonah as they gather the ingredients. Andrea pulls out flour, sugar, baking soda, and chocolate chips while TK rummages through the pantry, searching for the mixing bowls.
As they blend the ingredients together, Andrea begins to hum a soft tune, her voice intertwining with TK’s as he joins her in the melody. A smile spreads across her face; it’s a cherished tradition, this shared rhythm in the kitchen. All the most important men in her life seem to resonate with this tune when they cook with her, weaving a tapestry of love and memory that makes the moment feel even more special.
A sudden, loud snore reverberates through the air, causing them both to chuckle as they glance toward the living room, where Carlos stirs in his sleep.
“Just like his father,” Andrea observes, her heart swelling with love.